


Rainbow's Freedom (The Dark Knight Of The Soul Arc)

by BradyGirl_12



Series: Rainbow's Freedom [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Green Arrow, Green Lantern (Comic), Superman (Comics), Superman/Batman (Comics), Wonder Woman (Comics), World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Bondage, Canon Het Relationship, Cock & Ball Torture, Disturbing Themes, Drama, Dreams, Established Relationship, F/M, Het, Het and Slash, M/M, Male Slash, Master/Slave, Mutilation, Nightmares, Psychological Torture, Rape, Rope Bondage, Series, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Slash, Slave Trade, Slavery, Torture, Violence, World's Finest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 38
Words: 38,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the 23rd century, Earth is a technologically-advanced society that practices the ancient institution of slavery.  A Great Trial crashes down upon the House Of  Wayne.  Can Bruce and Clark’s relationship survive?  Will the Family’s strength be enough to see them through this time of Fear and Darkness?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Autumn's Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Original LJ Dates Of Completion: September 14, 2008-January 25, 2009  
> Original LJ Dates Of Posting: August 16, 2009-December 12, 2009  
> Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, DC does, more's the pity.  
> Original LJ Word Count: 38,910  
> Feedback welcome and appreciated.  
> There are nine arcs in this series.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a peacefulness at the Manor as Thanksgiving approaches. A calm before the storm?

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/bradygirl_12/pic/0001ye55)

_Autumn’s gold  
Shading the trees  
Of burning red,  
Orange,  
And yellow._

_Nature gathers  
Her cloak  
Around herself  
As she prepares  
For winter._

  


**Sapphire O’Reilly  
"The Wheel Of The Year"  
1986 C.E.**

Autumn sunlight slanted golden across the garage floor, crisp air coming in through the open door.

Brendan looked over his domain with satisfaction. Everything was neat and orderly, tools hanging on nails over the workbench. Even the parts of the vintage motorcycle he was working on was collected on a dropcloth on the floor.

He loved the smell of oil and polish, gleaming cars and motorcycles parked in neat formations. He wiped his hand on a rag. He would have to ask Alfred for some new ones the next time he went up to the house. 

Upstairs was his apartment, containing a living room, bedroom, bathroom and kitchenette. It had been already furnished when he had come to work for Bruce Wayne six years ago, but he had added many touches of his own since then.

Brendan was highly satisfied with his position. He was handsomely paid for chauffeuring duties, including maintenance of the impressive fleet of cars and cycles. He was on call 24/7, but Mr. Wayne was good about letting him know if he’d be needed for the night.

He received four weeks’ vacation per year and major holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas off to spend with his family in Boston. His employer treated him with respect, and Brendan repaid his good treatment with utmost discretion.

He was one of the very few to have seen Mr. Wayne’s Prize unVeiled. He suspected that his employer had been a little shell-shocked upon buying a pleasure slave, forgetting the Veil when he left the auction house, but Brendan kept silent about what the Prize looked like.

Gorgeous, but then, Bruce Wayne was known for his excellent taste.

“Brendan?”

“Right here.”

Brendan smiled at Dick, who bounced into the garage. Blue eyes lit up at the sight of the vintage motorcycle.

“It’s a 1920s Indian cycle, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“Can I help fix it? Can I?”

Brendan chuckled. “Sure can.” He put an arm around Dick’s shoulders as they walked toward the bike. “You free ‘til lunch?”

Dick nodded vigorously. “Lessons are over, and so are my chores and exercises.”

“Good.”

They set to work, Brendan always pleased to have Dick around. The boy was quick, intelligent, and loved tinkering with cars and bikes.

When he had first come down to the garage with a message soon after his arrival at the Manor, he’d been timid, but his eyes had lit up at the sight of the Wayne fleet.

At first it was ‘Richard’ and ‘Mr. Murphy’, but now they were old friends.

As Dick chattered about Household events, Brendan was glad he wasn’t one of those freemen who kept a strict demarcation between himself and staff who were manacled.

Brendan possessed good cooking skills, but Alfred always made sure he was well-fed and he got his share of treats like delicious chocolate chip cookies, pies, or cakes. Brendan always turned in a grocery list of his own to Alfred for the weekly shopping.

Brendan got along well with Alfred and Dick. He saw less of the Prize, but the pleasure slave was always endearingly shy and polite around him.

Brendan treated each slave with respect, doing so not just for Mr. Wayne’s approval but because he felt it was the right thing to do.

He grimaced as he thought of last summer’s Fourth of July picnic and the bullying of the Wayne slaves until he’d stopped it.

He would _always_ protect them.

“Brendan, you okay?”

“Huh? Oh, sure, Dick. Just wandered off.” He pushed back a lock of chestnut hair with a slender arm.

Dick grinned. “Master Bruce does that sometimes. So, you goin’ home for Thanksgiving in a few weeks?”

“You bet.”

“Does your mom cook a turkey as good as Alfred?”

Brendan laughed. “Oh, yes. And I always get plenty of leftovers to bring back.”

Dick laughed. “We have lots, too.” He worked on screwing a part into the bike. “That’s okay. People complain about leftovers from Thanksgiving but I like ‘em.”

“Me, too.” Brendan wiped grease off a part.

Dick squinted as he leaned forward, trying to fit in a tiny part. “Do you miss your family when you’re here?”

“Sometimes.” Brendan crossed his legs. He was wearing a grease-stained T-shirt and jeans. He wasn’t scheduled to pick up Mr. Wayne until five o’clock. “But I talk to my parents quite a bit during the week, e-mail my brothers and sisters, and generally keep in touch.” 

“They miss you, I bet.”

“I hope so!” Brendan grinned. He suddenly realized how quiet Dick had gotten. Oh, damn! “I bet you find this family pretty interesting.”

Dick immediately brightened as he lifted his head. “Yes, I do!” He leaned forward eagerly. “Master Bruce is always going to interesting places and doing fun things. Well, maybe not the business meetings.” Brendan laughed as Dick grinned saucily. “But it’s really fascinating to see how people react when they see the Prince of Gotham show up”

“You mean the fawning?” Brendan’s hazel eyes twinkled.

“Yeah.” Dick fished around for a bolt. “They part for Br…Master Bruce like the Red Sea for Moses.”

Always impressed by the boy’s intelligence, Brendan liked the clever analogy.

He had also noticed Dick’s slip on Bruce’s name.

He had long suspected that the Household was more Family now.

“So, is Mr. Wayne meeting with his cousin for Abolitionist stuff?”

Dick looked suddenly wary. “I think he keeps in regular contact.”

Being the Prince of Gotham’s chauffeur was a prestigious position, and afforded him respect.

Now the Prince was also espousing Abolitionist views.

“Do you…are you uncomfortable with…Master Bruce speaking out?” Dick twisted a rag in his hands as he awaited Brendan’s answer.

“Do you mean am I uncomfortable with Abolitionism?” At Dick’s tentative nod, Brendan said, “The way, I see it, you and Alfred and Mr. Wayne’s Prize deserve freedom just like anyone.”

The smile that blazed from Dick touched Brendan. He got to his feet and approached the boy, ruffling his hair.

He suddenly found himself with an armful of Squire, his throat tightening as Dick hugged him fiercely. He caressed Dick’s hair. 

The boy’s ability to love was astonishing.

Brendan felt a strong surge of protectiveness.

_Always protect you, Little One._

When Dick leaned back, Brendan smiled down at him. They separated, Dick running to get some fresh rags. He handed one to Brendan and they set to polishing the cycle.

“So, a lot of preparations going on up at the Manor for Turkey Day?” asked Brendan.

Dick laughed. “Alfred’s got the battle plans laid out. We’ve all got our assignments and are ready to go!”

“And those assignments are…?”

Dick polished vigorously. “Alfred orders the food, and we all get to add things to the list. Then we all have to help with dinner preparations: the Master’s Prize peels the potatoes and makes the cranberry sauce, I toss the salad, Alfred makes hamburger-celery-and-onion stuffing, we all help cutting up the yams, and Alfred is in charge of the turkey. The Prize and I make the pies under Alfred’s supervision, and that’s a whole ‘nother deal in itself! Then the Prize and I polish the silver, set the table, and generally do anything and everything. Oh, and the Master helps.”

“He does?”

“Yep, he helps with peeling and chopping, though Alfred doesn’t let him put ingredients together.”

Brendan grinned. He knew about his employer’s lack of culinary skills.

“Well, looks like you’re all set.”

“Not quite. Alfred’s got the Prize and I making pies this week: apple, pumpkin, lemon, and chocolate cream.”

“Mmm, sounds delicious.” Dick was frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate referring to…well, always saying ‘the Prize’.”

“That’s okay. Mr. Wayne hasn’t allowed me to know…”

“I’ll talk to him about that, but in the meantime…can I use your computer?”

Brendan nodded. He had a terminal upstairs but one down here as well.

Dick jumped up and hurried over to the computer, tapping keys quickly. He beamed. “Yes!” He turned back to Brendan. “We can use the Rigellian word for ‘Cherished Friend’, _Kla’xel.”_

Amused, Brendan said, “Sounds good to me.” He rose to his feet. “Do you and _Kla’xel_ make the pies to Alfred’s specifications?”

Dick nodded. “Alfred likes the way they turn out.”

“Well, that’s the important thing, isn’t it?”

“Alfred is a master chef!”

“Oh, I know. I live on his and my mom’s leftovers for a week or more after the holidays.”

“Oh, it’s lunch time! I gotta go up to the house.”

“Thanks for the help, Dick.”

Dick beamed and waved as he ran out of the garage and up to the Manor.

Brendan watched him go.

All was bustling here at the Manor in preparation for Thanksgiving, but there was a peacefulness mixed in with the happiness.

Brendan hoped it would remain that way.


	2. Eve Of Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snowbound makes for all kinds of cozy. ;)

_"There’s nothing cozier than baking pies in the kitchen on a snowy day."_

  


**Julia Childress  
Gourmet Chef   
1962 C.E.**

The smell of baking apple, pumpkin, lemon, and chocolate cream pies permeated the Manor. Alfred was in his element, supervising Clark and Dick as they helped him with the pies. He went down to the root cellar and came back up with jars of cherries, smiling at Dick’s excited bounce. Cherry pie! 

It was this domestic scene that Bruce came upon as he arrived home from work early. The city was emptying out as people were traveling home on the day before Thanksgiving. Brendan was doing last-minute packing and taking a taxi to the train station.

“Feels like snow,” Bruce said, grinning at the flour on Clark’s nose and in Dick’s hair.

“Ah, Master Bruce. Care to lend a hand?” Alfred asked.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re doing fine.”

“C’mon, Bruce! We already gave the pies to the shelters. Now we’re makin’ our own.” Dick held a rosy apple and a peeler.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Let me put my briefcase away.”

Bruce went out to the foyer and picked his briefcase up off the side table in the hall, heading for the study. Laughter echoed out from the kitchen.

He smiled as he sorted his papers, then he walked to the library. He stood before the portrait of his parents, looking at the happy little boy within the circle of their love.

He felt the old familiar pang, of loss, of grief. He thought of childhood Thanksgivings, the house full of laughter and love.

Childish laughter burst out from the kitchen and he smiled.

“You’d be so proud of them, Mom, Dad,” he whispered. “They’re utterly loyal to me, and I’m _loved.”_

Sometimes he couldn’t quite believe it, but it was true. He had a family, each one very special to him.

He headed toward the kitchen.

& & & & & &

The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and spices and was warm and cheerful as the pie-making continued.

All the ingredients for tomorrow’s feast were ready and waiting to be chopped, sliced, and peeled in the morning. Alfred had already made the stuffing, and the turkey would go in the oven later and cook all night, an old-fashioned method that Alfred insisted upon. No one complained, considering the results.

“It’s getting dark. Better put a light on,” Bruce said. He glanced out the window. “Wow, it’s really snowing out there!”

Fat, white flakes were falling rapidly, darkness already settling over the estate. Bruce was glad he’d come home early. This storm would play havoc with travelers. He hoped that Brendan reached Boston safely.

He turned on the light over the sink, the soft yellow glow giving everything a cozy atmosphere. Bruce crimped the crust of the apple pie he was working on.

“You dust your crusts with cinnamon just like Mom used to,” Clark said to Alfred with a smile.

“Yes, well…”

Suddenly everyone, including Clark, realized what he had just said.

“Are you remembering your mother, Clark?” Dick asked, eyes wide.

“I…” Clark frowned. “No, but…” His expression lightened. “But saying that means I knew my mother, right?”

“It would indicate so,” said Alfred with a smile.

“It’s this kitchen.” Clark waved his hand. “The smells, the coziness…it’s like it’s a part of me.”

“You may remember her more in time,” Bruce said.

Clark looked excited at the prospect.

& & & & & &

Bruce helped with clean-up, the final batch of pies in the oven. He washed his hands and went upstairs, going to the window and watching the heavy snowfall. 

The ocean roiled as restlessly as he felt. The weather forecasters promised a major storm. There would definitely be no patrol tonight.

Clark had a family out there somewhere, a mother, perhaps a father, maybe siblings? Somewhere close by or far away?

Bruce wished that he could help Clark find that family, but his records were murky. He worried that Clark had been stolen and placed in the hands of the slavers, but Silas Bracken was a reputable slave dealer.

Bruce felt a deep chasm open up within him. What if Clark was legally stolen goods and had to be returned to his rightful owner?

What if Clark _wanted_ to leave?

_Silly thoughts. Clark **loves** you._

**But if he had a choice?**

Bruce shivered at his little voice’s jab.

“Bruce, I…”

Clark entered the room, looking absolutely gorgeous, blue eyes sparkling.

Suddenly Bruce crossed the room, pulling Clark into a tight hug. He trembled slightly as he whispered, “Don’t ever leave me, Clark.”

& & & & & &

Clark had brains as well as beauty. He wisely refrained from pointing out that it wasn’t in his power to go or stay, but he understood what Bruce was asking.

“I’ll never leave you, Bruce,” he whispered back.

Bruce nearly sobbed as Clark caressed his hair. Blindly Bruce sought out his mouth and they kissed, their tenderness growing to ardor as they removed each other’s sweaters, stumbling to the bed and falling onto black silk sheets.

Clark purred as Bruce rained kisses on his throat and chest, his own hands stroking his lover’s stomach. Bruce still held an edge of desperation, his grip on his Beloved’s thigh a little too tight.

Clark brushed the hair out of Bruce’s eyes, murmuring, “I’m not going anywhere, love.”

Bruce kissed him again, and they both fumbled with zippers, pulling off pants and underwear and socks, their shoes tumbling to the floor.

Bruce tasted every inch of Clark’s beautiful skin, Clark stroking his thighs and hips, reassuring his lover.

“I love you, Bruce.”

“Mmm, my Starchild.”

Bruce teased Clark’s nipples, his slave shivering with pleasure. He smiled as he felt Bruce’s cock nudging his thigh. His hand slipped between Bruce’s legs.

“Oh!” Bruce closed his eyes, muscles rippling as he reveled in pleasure. He squirmed as Clark worked his magic, his cock growing in his lover’s hand.

Clark pulled his hand away and Bruce opened his eyes. A question went out and he rested a hand on his hip, his cock bobbing. Clark ran his tongue over his lips and Bruce smiled, positioning himself so that his cock hovered over Clark’s lush mouth.

Clark opened his mouth and his tongue flicked out, licking the underside of the hard column of flesh, Bruce shuddering. He inched forward on his knees, Clark smiling as he swirled his tongue around the head, lust glowing from Bruce’s blue eyes like a star sapphire.

Bruce gently eased into his lover’s mouth, gasping as satiny hot wetness enclosed him.

Clark vigorously applied all the skills he knew. He always loved taking Bruce into his mouth. Any time remnants of the memories in the slavers’ camp lingered, making love to Bruce this way dispelled them. Bruce’s cock didn’t make him cringe or disassociate himself from reality.

Instead, he savored the taste and texture of Bruce, even the musky scent of arousal. Every grunt and groan was music to his ears as his fingers pressed into a muscled thigh, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.

Bruce gasped as Clark disengaged, growling as he looked down.

Clark unashamedly used some of the art of the pleasure slave, lowering his lashes seductively and suddenly parting his legs, the very picture of wantonness.

He gestured to the headboard and Bruce chained him to it.

Bruce’s growl was different this time. He swiftly coated his cock with lubricant, rimming Clark’s anus with a dripping finger, bent his legs back and rammed home.

Pleasure blossomed in Clark, his nerves tingling with sensation as Bruce eagerly pushed in and out, his face a picture of ecstasy.

Clark was anchored by the chains as Bruce rode him hard, Clark’s moans tearing from his lips. He cried out as his prostate was touched again and again, pleasure nearly overwhelming him. The chains rattled as he writhed, lifting his hips up.

“My…Starchild… _mine…!”_

Clark screamed as the final thrust sent him over the edge, his cum spattering Bruce’s belly as his lover spurted hard and hot deep inside him, coating his insides with fire. 

Bruce collapsed beside him after pulling out, their gasps filling the air.

The snow was falling faster outside the window.

Bruce unchained his lover and tugged the sheets up over their bodies and they drifted off to sleep, the soft chime of the front doorbell ringing downstairs.

Clark wondered who would be out in this storm as he fell asleep in the warmth of Bruce’s arms.


	3. Like The Snows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The purity of snow can cover a lot of ugliness.

_The darkness  
Of men’s souls  
Corrodes  
Their hearts,  
As those   
Who are lost  
Cry out   
For surcease  
From blood   
And pain._

_Society  
Likes to call  
Its veneer   
Of civility  
A thing   
Of pride._

_Yet  
Like the snows  
It only covers  
The ugliness  
Deep within._

  


**Alan Sears  
"Society’s Compact"   
2121 C.E. ******

“Brendan!”

Alfred’s surprised exclamation echoed through the spacious foyer. Dick ran out of the kitchen.

“Come in, dear boy.”

“Oh, I’m heading for my apartment. I just stopped by to let you know that the trains are shut down because of the nor’easter, and I can’t get home this year.”

“Nonsense! You will come in, snow and all…Dick, get the mop…and have a good, hot supper with us. And of course you are invited to dinner tomorrow.”

Brendan grinned as he walked in with his suitcase. He had knocked off enough snow from his coat and boots not to make much of a mess, but Dick cleaned up the floor as the chauffeur followed Alfred into the kitchen. 

Alfred took the suitcase and set it by the door. “Have a seat.”

Brendan took off his coat, boots, hat and gloves. “Are you sure Mr. Wayne won’t mind?”

“Of course not! He wouldn’t want you to stay alone in your apartment with all of us over here eating Thanksgiving dinner.”

“I agree,” Dick chimed in, winking at Brendan.

Brendan grinned at the boy. “I already called Mom and Dad. They’re disappointed, of course, but Mom promised to send me plenty of leftovers.” He laughed. “There’ll be plenty if the rest of the family can’t get there.”

“And there will be no shortage here, I can assure you.” Alfred handed Brendan a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

“Mmm, this hits the spot, Alfred.”

“Of course.”

Brendan and Dick exchanged grins.

The kitchen smelled of many good things, and Brendan said, “I smell cherry pie!”

Dick giggled. “You’re right!” He sat at the table. “How is it out there?” he asked, looking out the window at the white-out conditions.

“A nightmare. The day before Thanksgiving is the busiest travel day of the year here in the States. Loads of people are stranded at airports, train stations and Earthbound spaceports.” Brendan took the cup of hot chocolate Alfred offered him.

Dick happily accepted a cup, too, delighted to see tiny marshmallows added. “You’re lucky to get back!”

“Darned right. My cabdriver said I was his last fare. Everyone’s ticked off because they’re losing money due to this blizzard.”

“Well, as long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters,” Alfred said. “You like roast beef, eh?”

“Absolutely, especially the way you make it.”

Alfred smiled. “Very good. With all the food we shall consume tomorrow, I’m cooking a small roast tonight with roasted potatoes and broccoli.”

“Sounds good to me. Just a light repast, hmm?” Brendan winked at Dick, who giggled.

“Sounds good to me, too!” the boy piped up.

Alfred smiled at his boys-in-crime.

& & & & & &

Bruce eventually awoke, pleased at the warm body next to him. He could hear the wind rattling the windows and felt very cozy under the covers with an armful of Clark.

Clark was sound asleep, breathing peacefully. Bruce opened his eyes and gazed on his Starchild’s beauty, gently touching the necklace with the Wayne crest that hung below his lover’s collar, the star pattern somehow fitting. 

He glanced at the window, startled at the amount of snow frosting the panes of glass. He kissed Clark’s shoulder and slipped out of bed, padding over to the window.

Bruce’s eyes widened, the snow already piled high in the garden and on the lawn. The seawall was buried under a mountain of snow.

He went into the bathroom, cleaned up, and put on his black silk robe, knotting the belt. Sliding his feet into slippers, he quietly left the bedroom.

Standing at the head of the stairs, eh could hear voices in the kitchen. He recognized Alfred, Dick, and… _Brendan?_

_The storm must have driven him back._

Alfred came out into the foyer.

“Alfred.”

“Oh, Master Bruce. Are you quite rested?”

Bruce smiled at the sparkle in his butler’s eyes. “Quite.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Brendan didn’t make it to Boston?”

“Sad to say, no, sir.”

“And you’ve already invited him to dinner tomorrow?”

“Of course, sir. And tonight as well.”

“Excellent. Clark and I will be down in a little while.”

“Very good, sir.”

Bruce nodded and went back to the bedroom. He stretched out on the bed and watched Clark sleep.

Eventually Clark opened his eyes. “Mmm…Bruce?”

“Right here, love.” Bruce brushed strands of hair out of cerulean eyes.

Clark shifted slightly. “Are you well-rested, Master?” Mischief sparkled in those eyes.

Equally amused, Bruce answered, “Oh, yes, my katare.”

Clark’s lips curved in a smile. He gently rested his hand on Bruce’s hip under the robe.

“Are you better now?”

Bruce cupped Clark’s face. “Yes.”

He leaned forward and kissed Clark tenderly.

When they separated, Bruce said, “We’d better shower and dress for dinner. We have a guest.”

“A guest?” Clark looked at the window, his eyes widening. “In this weather?”

Bruce grinned. “It’s Brendan. Didn’t quite make it to Boston."

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, he’ll get home for Christmas. In the meantime, he gets Alfred’s cooking.”

“Oh, well.”

Bruce laughed. He slapped Clark’s ass. “Shower, darling.”

They wrestled for a few minutes, laughing and nearly rolling off the bed. Giggling, they headed into the bathroom.

& & & & & &

In snowbound Gotham, crime was down, courtesy of criminals unable to get around easily. Hotels were filled to overflowing with stranded travelers, as were the airports and train stations.

There were injuries, due to accidents in the road or people slipping on ice. Jim was worried about the elderly alone in their homes and apartments and had sent out a message urging people to check on their neighbors.

The GCPD’s headquarters was buzzing with activity, phones buzzing and computers tracking the whereabouts of squad cars.

He sighed. He would probably be pulling an all-nighter here and as for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow…well, it wouldn’t be the first one he’d missed.

His phone rang. “Gordon here.” He frowned. “I’ll be right down.” He shrugged his coat and scarf on, pulling on his boots as he left his office.

& & & & & &

Brendan happily settled into his seat in front of the fireplace, the heat a pleasant counterpoint to the bitter cold outside. Mr. Wayne had gifted him with next weekend off to make up for missing the holiday with his family, his parents delighted to hear it.

He’d changed into fresh clothes for dinner, helping Dick set the table. Mr. Wayne and his Prize had come downstairs, damp from the shower.

No doubt His Lordship’s Prize had done his part in relaxing Mr. Wayne.

Brendan hid his smile at the thought.

“I’m afraid Jim Gordon has his hands full,” Bruce said sympathetically.

“Yes, Gotham’s quite a mess.” Brendan happily accepted a cup of coffee from Alfred, who settled into an armchair after a quick trip to the kitchen to return the tray. Dick had a glass of cranberry juice garnished with mint, sitting cross-legged on the floor at Bruce’s feet. Bruce lightly ran his fingers through his hair, Dick relaxing as he listened to the adults talk.

“Jim’s a good man. He’s got a tough job but he does it well.”

“I admire him greatly.” Brendan sipped his coffee.

“He’s got anti-slavery leanings, from what I’ve been able to glean.”

“Really?” Interest flickered in hazel eyes. “He keeps his feelings close to the vest.”

“He has to, as Police Commissioner.” Bruce crossed his legs. “But he’s said some things that indicate to me his inclinations on this issue.” Midnight-blue eyes looked sharply at Brendan. “And am I correct in divining you share his sentiments?” 

Bruce’s voice was neutral, though his own opinions on the subject were well-known by now. Brendan knew that most employees in his position would simply lie.

He would not do that on principle, and besides…

“You are correct, Mr. Wayne.”

& & & & & &

Jim stomped his feet as he entered the old brownstone. Once a magnificent edifice, it had fallen into disrepair as the neighborhood around it had deteriorated.

“In here, Commissioner!”

Jim followed the direction of the voice down the hall.

In a room with bare bookshelves that probably had once been a library, two of his officers were waiting for him.

Behind them were several naked slaves huddled together.

“What’s all this?”

The officer with the name Collins answered, “We got a hot tip, sir. This is a holding place for stolen slaves.”

“Damnit,” Jim growled. “Is this city filled with slave kidnappers? Every time I turn around, there’s more stolen slaves.”

Collins exchanged an uneasy glance with his partner. “Sir, it’s true there seems to be a lot of slave stealing, but at least we got these back.”

Jim took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Of course.” He replaced his glasses and approached the miserable group. “Who is your spokesperson?” he asked gently.

A man and woman in front exchanged a look, then the man said, “We are.”

Jim noted the scars on the man’s thighs. He was in good shape, attractive enough to be a bedslave. The man’s hazel eyes were wary, just as the woman’s green eyes were. She bore an ugly scar on her left breast but was otherwise smooth-skinned. Both appeared to be in their mid-twenties.

“What happened…?”

“Kevin, m’lord.” He shivered slightly in the cold. “We were kidnapped by a small gang of slave stealers. They appear very young, trying to break into the business. When the snow started, they panicked and ran off, afraid they would be caught here with us because we couldn’t be moved due to the weather.”

Jim wondered if Kevin had been the anonymous tipster. They would have been extremely vulnerable alone, subject to any torture by anyone who found them, or worse, classified as runaways by some sadistic official.

“Can you give us your owners’ names?” Jim thought of the amnesiac drug given to stolen slaves recently.

“Yes, m’lord,” said the woman, giving a slight curtsy. 

“You’ll need warm clothing and food,” Jim said. There would be no returns during this blizzard. Unfortunately, the holding cells at the station were full with the homeless since the shelters were overflowing. Besides, he wasn’t keen on putting slaves in cells with agitated freemen or criminals.

He took out his cellphone and dialed.

_“National Abolitionist Society, Gotham City Chapter.”_

“Hello. This is Commissioner James Gordon. We have a situation here.”

& & & & & &

Bruce was genuinely pleased at Brendan’s anti-slavery answer. “I thought as much.” He gently caressed his Prize’s arm. “What we say here tonight is strictly confidential.”

Brendan nodded, as one freeman to another. 

Sitting here in this room, he realized the weight of responsibility that Bruce Wayne carried. Protecting slaves, especially those you cared for, was serious business.

“Master, are you planning a new campaign after New Year’s?” asked Dick.

“I am. Lana Lang has a brilliant idea: sponsoring a Free Your Slave Day.”

Dick frowned. “But the Government…”

Bruce rubbed Dick’s back soothingly. “It’s only a symbolic. We certainly don’t want the Government classifying any slave as a runaway.”

“There are very few runaways,” Brendan said, carefully refraining from mentioning the gruesome torture and execution that was a runaway slave’s punishment.

“Well, every slave’s collar has a homing device planted in it. Unfortunately, slave kidnappers know how to neutralize the signal.”

Brendan noticed Bruce’s use of the word ‘kidnapper’ instead of ‘stealer’. Pleased, he said, “They’ll come up with something to foil the kidnappers, even though it’ll only be for awhile.”

Bruce grin was wolfish. “Criminals always try.”

& & & & & &

In the brownstone, arrangements were made to send a van over for the slaves. Jim waited. He trusted his officers but not the neighborhood. He preferred keeping his presence here.

Half an hour later a van drove up and a man and woman began unloading clothes. Jim and his men went out to help.

“Ms. Kane!” he said, smiling at the red-haired woman dressed in a sable hat and faux fur-trimmed coat.

“Commissioner,” she said cheerfully. 

“Why aren’t you home preparing to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?”

“I got stuck in town. Looks like I’ll be eating turkey at headquarters.”

Jim grinned at the heiress’ upbeat attitude. Good woman.

Kathy followed him into the brownstone. Compassion immediately showed on her face at the sight of the huddled slaves.

“Get dressed, my friends. We have hot chocolate for you until we get to Hawthorne Street.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” said Kevin as the slaves quickly put on underwear, shirts and pants. Socks and boots were quickly slipped on, and warm coats were gratefully received.

“We have hats and gloves here but first, some hot chocolate.”

Jim helped distribute the clothes, happily accepting a plastiform cup of rich chocolate. It went down smoothly, warming his insides.

“Thank you for calling HQ, Commissioner.”

“Thank you for all your help.” He cocked his head. “When I called, I didn’t expect the head of the chapter to come on down.”

Kathy’s green-blue eyes sparkled. “We’re a hands-on organization, Commissioner.”

Jim laughed. “Good enough.”

Half an hour later the slaves were herded into the van, and Jim shook Kathy’s hand.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to host this group for awhile. Things are just too chaotic right now.”

“No problem, Commissioner. Contact us when you can.”

With a wave, Kathy hopped in the van that slowly started its journey down the street.

“Let’s go, boys,” Jim said.

There was still a long night ahead of them.


	4. Giving Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two different worlds, two different Thanksgivings.

_The year that is drawing toward its close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies…They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy._

  


**President Abraham Lincoln  
Thanksgiving Proclamation   
October 3, 1863 C.E.**

The smell of roasting turkey permeated the Manor. Bruce awoke, Clark curled up around him. He opened his eyes a slit but couldn’t see any weather with the drapes closed. The howl of the wind and the lack of any bright light peeking through the slit in the drapes gave him a foundation for a good guess.

He snuggled close to Clark. Unless his lover was sick, his body temperature was always toasty-warm. Sickness meant cold or scorching-hot, not this pleasant warmth.

The padding of small feet down the hall let him know that Dick was up and going downstairs to help Alfred.

_He’s a good boy._

As Bruce listened to his companion’s steady breathing, he reflected on his life and the many things he had to be thankful for: security due to his birthright of wealth and power; making a difference as Batman; and most of all, his family.

He was working hard on Abolitionism. If a Day of Jubilee ever came, everything would be changed, but his family would know freedom. 

Despite his own fears, he dearly wanted his slaves to know the joys of freedom as he did.

He had drawn his slaves into the movement. They gathered information, Clark and Dick typing up his notes, the two of them and Alfred helping him strategize, keeping tabs on news stories, and compiling a profile of how the campaign was working. 

He kept drifting pleasantly, then yawned and decided to get up. Alfred would have a light breakfast waiting, and if the storm let up there would be shoveling to do. His regular service would not be able to get out here.

“Mmm, Happy Thanksgiving, Bruce.”

Bruce looked down at a smiling Clark. “Happy Thanksgiving, Clark.”

He leaned down and they kissed, Bruce lightly slapping Clark’s buttocks.

“Better get up, sleepyhead. Alfred’s waiting.”

Clark yawned and stretched. Oh, the beauty was testing him.

Fine by him.

Clark let out a yelp as Bruce pounced, laughter filling the room.

& & & & & &

Jim sighed as he looked out the window at the blizzard conditions. No going home today.

“Hi, Daddy!”

“Barbara?” Astonished, Jim watched his teenage daughter as she poked her head around the doorframe. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you knew I got stuck at Ellie’s. We were going to sit down to dinner, but I kept thinking of you. I asked Ellie’s mom to pack some food for us.”

Jim grinned. She set the boxes down on his desk.

“Hold it before you unpack.” At her inquisitive look he said, “I’ve got a place for us to eat this.”

& & & & & &

Everyone helped Alfred with dinner preparations. It was a smooth, efficient operation punctuated by laughter and teasing. The blizzard continued, everyone glad they were snug within the Manor. 

The menu held the time-honored traditions: sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, salad, hamburger-celery-and-onion stuffing, Yukon Gold whipped potatoes, yams, and, of course, the turkey.

Bruce sat at the head of the table, Alfred to his left, Clark to his right. Dick sat next to Clark, Brendan in the seat next to Alfred.

Before carving the turkey, Bruce surveyed his family. “I’m very thankful for all my good fortune, especially surrounded by such special people.” Dick positively beamed while the adults smiled. “I’m thankful for this bounty, and hopeful that the coming year sees change…for the better…in society.”

The smiles grew brighter, and Bruce stood to carve the turkey with the gold-handled carving knife.

& & & & & &

“Glad to see you, Commissioner.”

“Thank you, Ms. Kane. Let me introduce you to my daughter, Barbara.”

Barbara beamed as she shook hands with Kathy Kane.

“We even brought our own food,” Jim said.

Kathy laughed. “Excellent! Please come on in.”

The dining room was filled with the kidnapped slaves, who were not uncomfortable with the Commissioner’s presence. All were dressed warmly, and even looked happy. Kathy escorted her guests to two empty chairs.

“A fine day today,” Kathy said, raising her glass.

Everyone joined in the toast.

& & & & & &

“I’m stuffed,” Brendan groaned, patting his stomach. “Alfred gives my mom a run for her money.”

Bruce grinned.

The two of them were in the living room, clean-up done. Clark and Dick came in, Alfred following a few minutes later.

“You’re a god, Alfred,” Brendan said.

Alfred smiled serenely. “Thank you, Brendan.”

Dick stood at the window. “Is it ever going to stop snowing?”

“Someday,” Clark smirked.

Dick giggled, returning to sit at Bruce’s feet. It wasn’t required of him. He simply liked to sit on the floor.

“We’ll have a ton of clean-up to do,” Bruce said. “However, not today.”

“It’ll be great exercise,” said Brendan with a grin.

“We’ll need exercise after this!”

Conversation flowed back and forth, Bruce feeling sleepy.

As he drifted off, he felt very content.


	5. "Have A Holly, Jolly Christmas!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Christmas glitter hides pain.

_Christmas joy and gaiety  
Glitters like fairy dust  
On trees, in stores,  
And everyone must_

_Rush ‘round and ‘round  
And dance and smile,  
No gloomy faces,  
No death row mile. _

_And beneath it all,  
For some,  
Is a melancholy  
Of spirit,  
So glum.  
So glum._

  


**Allison Gilmore  
"My Christmas Stocking   
Has A Lump Of Coal   
And Other Poems"   
1972 C.E.**

Christmas season glittered magically at Wayne Manor. Alfred, Clark, and Dick always loved decorating the house and grounds, strands of white lights and garland entwined around the front pillars, the bushes, and around the kitchen door. Fragrant wreaths adorned both doors.

The giant Christmas tree in the living room sparkled with antique ornaments and glittering gold-and-silver garland.

One of Dick’s favorite pastimes was sitting cross-legged in front of the great tree, gazing up at the beautiful ornaments.

During one of these quiet times Clark came into the room and sat down next to the boy.

They sat in companionable silence, both enjoying the sunlight sparkling off the ornaments and garland. Clark put an arm around Dick’s shoulders and the boy leaned into him.

& & & & & &

Bruce paused in the entrance of the living room, smiling as he saw the tableau in front of the tree.

He felt warmth tingle through him. For so many years, the only warmth in an empty life had been Alfred.

Now he had two more people who loved him, shining bright lights that rivaled the tree.

He made a small noise so as not to startle the duo. They smiled up at him, the light shining in two pairs of blue eyes, reflected from the glittering tree.

“It’s such a beautiful tree,” Dick beamed.

“Well, you all helped decorate it.” Bruce took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the evergreen.

“It’s a wonderful tree,” Clark agreed. He gently rubbed Dick’s back.

“The best tree ever!” Dick bounced, Clark and Bruce laughing.

“I’m hungry.” Bruce sniffed. “I smell freshly-baked Christmas cookies.”

Dick scrambled to his feet. “I’m supposed to help Alfred bake a batch!”

“Bring in some samples, nice and warm,” Bruce called after the boy as Dick dashed to the kitchen.

Clark grinned as he stood up. “Cookies sound good.”

“Especially Alfred’s.”

Bruce sat on the couch and patted his lap. Clark grinned and stretched out on the couch, resting his head on Bruce’s lap. Bruce began stroking silky black hair, settling his arm lightly across his lover’s chest.

“Are you happy?” he asked softly.

“Very.” Clark’s eyes sparkled as he gazed up at Bruce.

“You feel good today?”

“Perfect health.”

“Good.”

Bruce hoped that Clark would continue enjoying good health. Just the occasional queasiness and headaches just before and after the weekly shot, but that was expected.

His cellphone rang. “Hello? Oh, hi, Kathy.” He kept stroking Clark’s hair. “How are you?” Clark sighed happily. “Glad to hear it. Did you get those last slaves returned to their rightful owners? Oh, good. You did such a good job of caring for those kidnapped souls.” Bruce frowned. “Another group was found? Where?” Bruce shook his head. “This is strange, though I suppose they think that during the holiday season, the police are too busy to keep an eye on everything. They can slip through the cracks.” Clark curled into him, Bruce smiling. “Thanks for the update, Cuz. And a Merry Christmas to you!”

Bruce snapped his phone shut, setting it on the table next to the couch.

“They’ve found more slaves?” Clark asked softly.

“Yeah.” Bruce sighed. “Unfortunately, kidnapping of quality slaves is on the rise.”

Clark kissed Bruce’s hand. “I’m sure that Batman and Robin can help them.”

“I’m sure they will.”

Clark closed his eyes as he smiled, Bruce’s smile fading.

He had to make sure that everything would be all right.

& & & & & &

Steve helped Hal into bed, fluffing the pillows under his lover.

“Comfy?”

“Very much.” Hal’s eyes were soft with affection. “You’re so good to me, Stevie.”

“My pleasure.” Steve kissed Hal on the forehead and started to leave when Hal grasped his arm. “Stevie, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just a little tired.”

Brown eyes looked Steve over, but Hal merely smiled sadly. “Sorry.”

“About what?”

“You’re wearing yourself out taking care of me.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“But it’s true.”

“Not really.” Steve caressed Hal’s hair. “I’m probably just not in tip-tip shape. Some of the injuries I got in the crash have hampered my exercise program.” He tapped his hip lightly.

“I can understand that.” Hal sighed. “The docs say I’ll be able to start walking soon.”

“That’s wonderful!” Steve kissed Hal. “I can’t wait.” He rose from the bed. “Get some sleep. I’m going out to finish my Christmas shopping.”

“Is Santa going to be good to me this year?”

Steve laughed. “Don’t you know it!”

Hal’s smile faded after Steve left.

Something had been bothering his Stevie ever since he’d come back from Paradise Island.

He could see it in his shadowed eyes, showing flashes of pain that he tried to hide.

Hal groaned. Damn his sore muscles! And Steve wasn’t completely healthy. He was tired, and whatever was bothering him was draining him.

As Hal fell asleep, he was determined to find out so that he could help his Stevie.

& & & & & &

Steve wondered through the streets, window-shopping as the snow fell slightly. Happily, Boston had dug out of the Thanksgiving blizzard.

He needed to get a few more presents on his list. What would his sister like?

He sighed. All the holiday gaiety was passing him by this year. Hal was getting better but was still sick. He was feeling tired all the time himself, his hip still giving him trouble.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about Diana.

It ate him up to think of her as nothing but a prostitute to so many men, her spirit hurt a little more every day.

He winced at the thought of her and her sister Amazons suffering this fate for centuries.

His mind went ‘round and ‘round as to how to help them. Sure, free them, and they’d be ruthlessly hunted down, and horribly tortured and executed when caught.

They were Government property, unlikely to be sold to a private buyer, and he certainly didn’t have the money.

He rubbed his face as snowflakes kissed his skin. Somehow he had to figure something out.

He couldn’t leave Diana to her fate.


	6. Priceless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce, Clark, and Dick go into town on a blustery February day.

_"A fine book is a treasure,  
Like a jewel of great price."_

  


**Sir Alan Dinsmore  
"The Pleasure Of Reading"   
1926 C.E.**

The holidays were a glittering, happy time, and as the New Year dawned, life was good at Wayne Manor. Bruce was more active with the National Abolitionist Society, and Clark was feeling better for longer stretches of time. Dick was soaking up all the academic knowledge he could grab, and Barbara stopped by once a week to teach her own specialties. She and Dick had become good friends, not forgetting their status but carefully working their way around it.

Bruce approved of Barbara around. She was bright, charming and considerate of his slaves.

Jim Gordon had raised his daughter right.

Bruce’s business was thriving, Lex and Ollie were doing just as well, and Batman and Robin were keeping Gotham safe, the crime rate at its lowest in years.

Everything was going so well.

Bruce was determined not to worry about anything disastrous befalling his family.

Despite the little voice telling him to be vigilant.

& & & & & & &

 _“Mister Wayne, I have that book you ordered.”_

Pleased, Bruce said, “Thank you, Mr. Alden. When can I pick it up?”

_“Any time, sir.”_

“How about tomorrow, oh, say, around one?”

_“Excellent.”_

Bruce shut off the speakerphone and left the study. Smiling, he observed Dick and Barbara as they worked on the equipment as he entered the gym.

“So, what routine is on the docket today?”

“A whole run-through of an Olympic routine,” Barbara said as she finished her vault. “My routine.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Clark entered the gym. “What sounds like fun?”

“Our gymnasts are going to do an Olympic routine.” Bruce smiled at Barbara. The girl had an excellent chance to be part of the Olympic team in Prague this summer. 

“You’re right, Master, that could be very interesting to watch.”

Clark and Bruce exchanged grins, and the children laughed.

“You go first, Dick,” Barbara said.

Clark and Bruce settled on the bleachers.

As they watched the routine unfold, Bruce said, “I got a call from Anders Alden. He’s just received that first edition of Javras’ First Folio.”

“That’s wonderful, Bruce! He’s the Jovaran equivalent of Shakespeare.”

“It’s priceless.” Bruce ran his thumb along Clark’s jaw. “How about you come along while I pick it up?”

“I’d like that.” 

Bruce smiled.

& & & & & & &

Wind blew as the sun shone on a cold February day, the sky a light blue as clouds drifted by, people hurrying along their way as they hunched against the wind.

It was busy at this time of day in the business district, people hurrying to get back to the office after lunch, or meeting someone for the midday meal.

Clark and Dick were taking everything in, always eager for trips away from the Manor. They loved the estate but spent most of their time on it, so enjoyed the opportunity to see other places.

Bruce led them down a quiet side street. The venerable Alden Brothers Fine & Rare Books was located a few blocks down. The establishment, founded in 1859, had thrived for generations, surviving the early 21st century’s new Internet wave until people realized that books were still something they wanted. The imposing shop was Victorian in design but emanated quiet elegance. The Waynes had shopped there for generations.

Inside was a book lover’s dream: shelves of the old and rare or merely the special. The wine-red carpet muffled the noise of footsteps and seemed to encourage low-voiced conversation. Comfortable chairs were discreetly situated around the shop. 

“Ah, Lord Wayne.”

Bruce smiled. Anders Alden was a gentleman to the core.

“Hello, Mr. Alden. You have a book for me?”

The thin man in waistcoat and cravat nodded with a smile of his own. Wispy white hair was neatly combed, pale blue eyes flicking over Clark and Dick.

Anders Alden did not object to slaves in his shop, one of the reasons Bruce patronized his establishment. Clark and Dick were free to browse, and any customer who objected would be summarily ejected.

Clark picked out a volume of poetry, turning the pages as he devoured each poem. Dick knelt and checked out the lower shelves, pulling out a book on trains. He carefully flipped through the pages, exclaiming softly over the glossy photographs.

“This is exquisite,” Bruce said as he reverently held the folio.

“Quite.” Anders allowed price to show in his face. “The Jovarans are well-known for their artistic gifts. They truly enjoy the art of words.”

“Yes,” Bruce said as he read a page. “This contains the best of his plays?” 

“Yes.” Anders glanced at Clark. “They are an interesting people. One of their philosophers, Jaleel, spoke about the art of the pleasure slave.”

“Ah, yes.” Bruce caressed the vellum page he was reading. “They accord their slaves far more respect than we do.”

“Very much so. They consider a pleasure slave an artist, and while they still own them as we do, they grant them privileges unheard of here.”

“Out of respect for their gifts.”

The elderly man nodded.

Bruce closed the folio and carefully slid it into its walnut carrying case.

“Thank you. I’ll always treasure this.”

“My pleasure, Lord Wayne.”

Bruce inclined his head at the bookshop owner’s bow.

He called for his slaves, who replaced their books. As they approached, Bruce asked, “See anything you like?”

“Trains!” Dick’s eyes sparkled.

Bruce grinned. “That’s fine. Get it and it’s yours.”

Dick hugged his Master and scampered off. Clark and Bruce exchanged grins. Bruce reached out and took Clark’s hand.

“Anything you like?”

Clark nodded shyly. “Poetry.”

“Ah, sounds interesting.”

_“’My love is like wings/Upon gentle air/Caressing your skin/As my heart sings.’”_

Bruce smiled. “Let’s take it home.”

Clark grinned as he squeezed Bruce’s hand and went to get the book.

& & & & & &

The temperature had fallen as the trio left the bookshop, the wind blowing harder. Bruce kept Dick close, keeping the boy warm, and Clark was on his other side as they walked back to the main street.

“Brucie!”

Bruce smiled at Cordelia Standish, the grande dame of Gotham society. She smiled back benignly.

“How nice to see you.”

“I can say the same, Cordelia.”

“Typical February day.” She was dressed in a faux fur coat, the wind playing havoc with her frosted hair.

“Very.”

Clark heard a sound and looked over at the alley, surprised to see a young girl trip and start to fall. He hurried to catch her just as a loud bang! rang out down the street.

Bruce pushed Cordelia and Dick down to the ground as a bullet pinged against a corner of the building.

He narrowed his eyes, searching for the gunman. He didn’t see anyone.

“It’s okay! They caught the guy!” a young man shouted as he ran down the street toward Bruce’s party.

Relieved, everyone got to their feet. Bruce helped Cordelia up.

“My God, Gotham gets crazier every day,” huffed the older woman, dusting herself off.

“It’s okay, Cordelia. The police have taken care of him.” Bruce looked around with a frown. “Richard?” 

A white-faced Dick ran up to him. “Master, your Prize…”

“Is he hurt?” Bruce felt his stomach drop. He spun around. Clark was nowhere to be seen. “Ka _'tare!_ Ka _'tare_ , where are you?”

Bruce ran to the alley, swiveling his head to look up and down the street frantically. Ice clenched his heart.

Clark was gone.


	7. Crash'd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim tries to calm a frantic Bruce.

_Darkness  
Surrounds me,  
All crash’d  
Around me._

_Bitterness  
On my tongue.  
Despair  
In my heart._

  


**Aaron Andel  
"The Day The World   
Came Crashing Down"   
2110 C.E. ******

“Dad, how about some pizza for lunch?”

Jim laughed at his daughter’s enthusiasm. “We’d have to eat it here in my office.”

“That’s okay. I’ve spent so much time here over the years, I’m practically one of the squad.”

Jim snorted but it was true. His phone rang and he answered, “Gordon here. Whoa, slow down, Bruce! What…?” Shock numbed Jim for a second, then he was all business. “I’ll be right there, Bruce. Hold on, my friend.” Jim hung up the phone and buzzed his secretary. “Get my car ready, Sally. And send a patrol car and Detectives Stewart and Moss to 681 Main Street for a slave kidnapping.”

“Oh, no! Is it Dick?” Barbara asked, hand to her mouth.

Jim shook his head. “Bruce’s Prize.”

Barbara winced. “Oh, god, Bruce must be frantic.”

“He is.” Jim was already at the door. He said nothing as Barbara joined him.

& & & & & &

The crowd on Main Street milled around as the officers kept them away from the Prince of Gotham, who was shouting if anyone had seen anything. Some of the onlookers were simply curious to see their Prince melt down, while others wanted to help. Dick was trying to calm his Master, Bruce with an iron grip on his arm. 

Jim quickly exited his car, followed by Barbara. Dick’s eyes reflected relief when he saw them. 

“Bruce, what happened?”

“My slave has been kidnapped!” Bruce snapped.

Jim ignored the tone. Bruce was out of his mind right now. Little wonder. A treasured slave taken away rattled most owners.

“Give me details, Bruce,” Jim said gently but firmly.

Barbara hugged Dick, who was also upset. Bruce didn’t let him go.

“I was talking with Cordelia Standish, and then shooting started. We all hit the ground. I assumed Cl…my Prize was right behind me.” Bruce swallowed. “After it was over, I turned around and he was gone.” He pulled Dick close, crossing his arms around his Squire’s chest.

“What did you see, Richard?” Jim asked gently.

“Just what Master Bruce did. The shooter had us all down, and when I got up, I didn’t see the Master’s Prize.”

Jim could tell that Dick wanted to speak the name of Bruce’s Prize, but he was well-trained.

Angry at the system, Jim held his tongue. Bruce was frantic, fear in his eyes and movements. He was a hairsbreadth away from losing it, holding on to Dick so tightly that he was going to leave a bruise.

He really couldn’t blame Bruce. One slave was gone and another was so very vulnerable.

Jim wondered if Bruce’s Prize would ever be found.

He carefully tucked that thought away. It was his job to find the Prince’s Prize, and he would do so with all he had.

Barbara was still standing close to Dick, sympathy in her eyes. She looked anxiously at her father. Jim put a hand on her shoulder.

“My men are taking statements. Go home, Bruce. I will stay in touch with you.” His voice softened. “Please, Bruce.”

Bruce said nothing, but he seemed to calm for a moment, then shook his head.

“Jim…”

“If your Prize has been kidnapped for ransom, they’ll probably call you at home. And you have others to protect.”

Bruce tightened his hold even more, Dick suppressing a wince. “I have to tell Alfred,” Bruce said dully.

“Yes. Keep him and Richard on the estate.”

The Prize’s taking could have been random, but a slave of his quality and pedigree would attract slave stealers as well as ransom thieves.

Jim looked at the young man standing before him. He remembered another time, another place, tragedy clinging to him as it did now, looking shell-shocked and broken.

Jim hoped that he could help Bruce more successfully this time.

As Bruce and Dick left, Dick slipping his hand into Bruce’s, Barbara went up to her father.

“Daddy, can you find Lord Wayne’s Prize?”

“I’m certainly going to try, honey.”


	8. ...As The World Falls Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wayne Family tries to deal with the fall-out of losing Clark.

_Numb’d,  
As the world  
Falls away._

  


**Aaron Andel  
"The Day The World   
Came Crashing Down"   
2110 C.E.**

Bruce felt numb.

As the limousine glided through the streets of Gotham, Dick curled up against him. He kept his arm firmly around the boy.

His mind raced with the dire possibilities: Clark taken randomly, or specifically targeted? He could be in the hands of a private owner, or in another slavers’ camp. He could already be off-world.

He began to tremble, Dick pressing closer against him. Dick’s silence was what he needed. The small body warm against him kept him from losing it completely.

A somber Brendan drove them up to the Manor, Bruce climbing out of the car, still holding onto Dick.

The front door opened. “Ah, Master Bruce! Did you enjoy your trip to town?” Alfred saw their stricken faces. “Where is Clark, sir?”

“Taken,” Bruce whispered, Dick slipping his hand into his.

Shock crossed the butler’s face, then he went straight to Bruce and folded him and Dick into an embrace, Brendan gently putting his hand on Dick’s back.

After the little tableau broke up, a hollow-eyed Bruce led his Family into the house.

The Manor seemed empty, their footsteps echoing as they walked across the parquet floor. 

The frantic urgency that Bruce had felt in town was dampened but still eating away at his edges. He needed to do something. Jim was an excellent Police Commissioner, but the Bat was needed.

Bruce’s cellphone rang and he flipped it open. “Yes?” He closed his eyes. “Hello, Ollie. I…there isn’t much to say.” Bruce listened for another minute, then said, “I appreciate any help you and Dinah can give. Thank you.” Bruce shut the phone, saying, “Alfred, please preside in the kitchen. I need some time alone.”

Dick was unhappy but followed Alfred as the butler gently tugged him away from Bruce, Brendan following them to the kitchen.

Bruce walked slowly to the library.

Crossing his arms, he stared up at the painting of his parents. His younger self smiled out at him.

It had been so long since he’d been that little boy.

He had to keep it together. He _had_ to.

He _had_ to find Clark!

& & & & & &

The shadowed figure crouched in the alley, cape fluttering out behind him. He searched the alley compulsively, followed by a sparkling shadow.

When Bruce had readied for this patrol, Dick had silently showed up in costume. Bruce could have ordered him to stay home, but Dick was frantic, too.

They searched up-and-down, but found nothing. It was as if Clark had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Batman’s stomach clenched. He had to find a clue; there had to be something here.

“Batman.”

The Dark Knight turned at the sound of the soft voice. Robin’s entire body expressed pain.

“We should visit the Commissioner.” 

“We have to search.”

Robin nodded. “We’ll do that. Then we’ll go to Jim Gordon. He might have a clue from witness reports.”

Batman nodded slowly.

& & & & & &

Jim barked out orders, slamming down the phone. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. Good thing he’d invested in a comfortable chair. He certainly spent enough time in it.

“Daddy.”

He opened his eyes to see his daughter smiling at him, albeit with concern in her eyes.

“Hi, Pumpkin.” Her smile grew brighter at the nickname. “What are you doing here so late?”

“I was finished with my homework and was restless.”

“You’re worried about Bruce Wayne’s Prize.”

“I am.” Barbara sat in the chair in front of his desk. “He’s a really sweet man, Dad. He adores Lord Wayne and is a real friend to Dick, and Alfred has given his approval.”

“Ah, from what you’ve told me, that approval is essential.” Jim smiled.

Barbara grinned, sobering as she said, “His loss would devastate that Family.”

“Family? Don’t you mean Household?”

“No, I mean Family.” Barbara leaned forward. “They really are, Dad. Manacles and collars don’t change that.”

“No, I suppose they don’t.”

Suddenly, a rustle at the window attracted their attention.

“Batman and Robin!” Barbara was astonished.

“Come in, gentlemen.”

Both were extraordinarily graceful, a prerequisite of their jobs. Jim glanced with amusement at his daughter. It was her first time seeing the Dynamic Duo up close.

“Commissioner, I hear there’s been a kidnapping.”

“You hear correctly.” He indicated his girl. “My daughter Barbara.” Two heads gravely nodded in acknowledgement. 

“Do you have any leads?”

Jim shook his head. “The witnesses saw nothing. The kid shooting up the city diverted everyone’s attention.”

“Kid?” 

Jim nodded. “College kid. He was high on sparkle dust and was shooting at random.”

The Batman’s gloved fist tightened slightly. “Any leads from the alley?”

“None.”

“So there’s nothing?”

Jim felt inadequate, that voice demanding something… _anything._

& & & & & &

Barbara listened to the conversation, watching the Dynamic Duo closely. She loved the contrast of dark and bright. The Batman was clothed in darkness. Robin was bright glitter and sunshine.

While her father talked with Batman, Barbara observed his young partner. 

Robin was standing still, a solemn look on his face. He promised movement, but he remained motionless at the Bat’s side. She had seen him in motion through vids taken of him in action.

He was very attentive, listening to the conversation between the adults. She judged him to be around ten years old, maybe a little younger or older, but she was certain he was younger than her.

She wished that she could see him in action. His grace reminded her of a ballet dancer or gymnast.

His costume was a complete contrast to his mentor’s: green, red, and yellow, fitting a sunny personality. She wished that she could see a patented Robin smile, but of course the situation was serious.

“You said that the gunman diverted everyone’s attention?” Robin asked. Her father nodded. “Could…could this gunman have been a deliberate distraction?” 

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps.” He went to his computer and pulled up a file. “Matt Stevens is a Gotham U. student, hooked on sparkle dust. He could have been pressured by a dealer to do this.”

“As a diversion to steal Lord Wayne’s Prize?” Barbara asked.

“Could be.” Jim studied the file. “He was arrested two years ago buying sparkle from Sammy Drexel.”

“A two-bit dealer,” Batman growled.

“Yes. He’s connected to…Anthony Zucco’s mob.”

“Zucco.” Batman’s voice was like ice and Barbara noticed Robin tense. “He’s in prison.”

“For a good, long time.” 

“Still, maybe he knows something.”

Barbara shivered a little.

“You’re welcome to try, Batman. He might know who Stevens’ dealer is now. Meanwhile, we’ll keep at the kid, though he’s de-toxing now.” 

“Keep in touch, Commissioner. Goodbye, Miss Gordon.”

“Glad to have met you,” Robin added.

“Me, too.”

Barbara wished it had been under different circumstances, but she still was glad to have seen the Dynamic Duo up close-and-personal.

“Quite a sight, eh?”

Barbara looked at her smiling father. “Yes!” he laughed and ruffled her hair.

& & & & & &

Tony Zucco disliked prison, of course, but it could be worse. He could have fried instead of getting life.

Here he was still King of the Hill, still feared and respected. If people didn’t feel both you were cooked like an egg.

He sat quietly in the library. Everything was monitored here, too, of course, but not to the point of suffocation. He had no feuds going on and so was less likely to be a target. Instead, he could just sit here reading his book, minding his own business.

“Zucco.”

The sibilant whisper started him. He looked up, adrenaline racing as he said, “Batman!”

“That’s right.” The Bat was only halfway out of the shadows, his cape shrouding his costume.

The kid was with him, somehow blending into the dark with that crazy-colored costume. He didn’t look smiling and happy. In fact, the kid looked like he’d have liked to tear his arm off and beat him over the head with it.

“So to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Matt Stevens’ dealer. Who is he?”

“Who?”

“Matt Stevens. Who’s he buying sparkle from?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“He used to buy from Sammy Drexel.”

Zucco snorted. “So? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not in the business anymore.”

“You’re still connected, Zucco.”

Zucco smiled. “True.” He sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin. He’d dropped several pounds due to the lousy prison food but was still on the portly side. “What do you care about some junkie for? He kill someone?”

“He shot up downtown Gotham.”

“So that was him? Huh.”

“So who’s he buying from?”

“I really dunno, Batman. There’s dozens of dealers out there for this particular junk.”

The Batman said nothing, but the menace was clearly there, even from the kid.

Zucco shrugged his shoulders, trying to hide his nervousness. “Can’t help ya, Batman.”

“Try.”

The single word sent a shiver down Zucco’s spine. “I can ask around.”

Batman nodded. He didn’t say to do it quickly. Zucco understood that without words.

Batman melted back into the shadows, the kid staring for a moment, then disappeared into the darkness, too.

Zucco breathed a sigh of relief.

& & && & &

Out in the night, Batman placed a hand on Robin’s shoulder.

“You all right?”

Robin took a deep breath. “No, but I will be.” He looked up at his mentor. “Clark will be all right.”

Batman squeezed his shoulder, and they flew off into the night.


	9. Captive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark wakes up and realizes he’s in a situation. Hint: it’s not good.

_Shock,  
Despair,  
Terror._

_A slave’s  
Lot  
In life._

  


**Dr. Eleanor Quimby  
"Slave Psychology   
In The Modern Age"   
2246 C.E.**

Clark awoke.

Blackness surrounded him, panic flashing through his mind. Was he blind?

The panic receded, replaced by overwhelming relief. He was still wearing his dark glasses. 

He was also gagged, so yelling was out.

He tried to move.

His arms and legs were spread-eagled and stretched taut, chains attached to his wrist manacles and ankle manacles cold against his skin.

He was naked.

Clark shivered, feeling cotton sheets beneath him. He was lying on a bed that was comfortable, at least, unlike a filthy cage floor.

He had to remain calm and gather information like Batman and Robin would.

He had to clamp down on his fear.

His eyes were adjusting. A panelled room, maybe dark wood? He tried to lift his head but a short collar chain prevented it.

The ceiling was wood, too, and a picture on the wall showed the Gotham skyline. He barely saw the corner of a bureau.

There seemed to be patterns of filtered light on the wall, so there was a window. Shuttered?

He listened for sounds. No traffic or hovercraft. Nothing in the next room…wait, the low hum of a radio? 

Clark remembered being in town with Bruce and Dick at the bookstore, then heading out on their way home. Bruce had stopped to talk to an acquaintance and Clark had heard a sound…

& & & & & &

 _A little girl was falling in the alley, surprise on her face. Clark instinctively rushed to her aid, saving her from a nasty fall. She smiled at him and Clark smiled back._

_Suddenly her smile turned malevolent._

_“Stupid whore.”_

_Shocked, Clark began to recoil, a sharp **crack!** of a gunshot the last thing he heard before everything went black…_

& & & & & &

Was he in slavers’ hands?

How long had he been out?

Long enough to be taken off-world?

Despair rose up in him. What if he never saw Bruce again? Or Alfred or Dick or Brendan?

What would his captors do to him?

Clark tested his bonds again. He was stretched out enough to not be able to move.

And to be open and ready.

Shivering, he strained to hear anything.

Was that a crow’s caw?

It wasn’t a very good clue. He could be in the city or country, though the pinewood paneling suggested a cottage or cabin, which would probably be in the country.

Was he being held for ransom? Oh, if only! 

He shuddered. The only man he’d ever known, who’d had his body completely, had been Bruce. He’d been a virgin when sold to his Prince.

His stomach tightened. The slavers and auction guards had used him badly in different ways.

His mouth…

Clark closed his eyes.

He’d be lucky to only be used that way this time.

He tensed as he heard a noise. The door opened.

It was too dark to make out the features of the person entering the room. His kidnapper came close to the bed.

A strong hand slid up his thigh, replaced by the cold glint of steel. The sharp point of a knife skimmed lightly over his bare skin, leaving no mark or pain, but promising both.

Clark felt the fear ratchet up as the knife hovered over his cheek. Teeth gleamed in the darkness.

“Ah, my son is going to _love_ his birthday present.”

Clark’s body went rigid with shock. 

His kidnapper laughed, running his palm down Clark’s stomach and wrapping it around his cock, suddenly squeezing it viciously, the ball gag muffling Clark’s scream.

The kidnapper ran the tip of the knife along the length of the abused cock, patted a bare thigh, laughing as he left the room.

Tears of pain and terror ran down Clark’s face.

His nightmare had come true.

He was in the merciless hands of Edmund Caldwell.


	10. Reinforcements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reinforcements arrive at Wayne Manor.

_Time for friends  
To gather  
In the darkest hour._

  


**Sir Cedric Hawk  
Explorer & Adventurer   
1861 C.E.**

“Dinah!”

“Hello, Bruce.” Dinah stood on the front porch as the February winds blew her hair. Melody stood beside her, brown eyes solemn.

“Uh, come in.”

Dinah and Melody entered the foyer, Bruce closing the front door.

“You answering the front door now?”

“I was passing by and Alfred’s out in the garden.” He glanced at the taxi outside. “You better send him away. It’s expensive to keep the meter running.” 

“I don’t want to invite myself here.”

“Your’e staying.”

Dick appeared, sad face lighting up at the sight of the visitors.

“Dick, my sweet, will you help Melody with the luggage? Oh, and pay the cabbie,” Dinah said, handing Dick money.

“Yes, m’lady!”

Dick and Melody went out to the taxi. Dinah laid a hand on Bruce’s arm.

“Shouldn’t we help them?” he asked.

“Melody and I traveled light.” Blue eyes were sympathetic. “Ollie and Roy will be along, but they’re tracking down leads.” At Bruce’s hopeful look she said, “Ollie thinks the slave-stealing ring operating in Star City might have some answers.”

She saw the fear in Bruce’s eyes and carefully restrained her pity. She hoped that Clark would be found quickly, not wishing to dwell on what could be happening to him right now.

And the longer he was missing, the less likely he would be found.

“Thank you for coming, Dinah.”

Dinah nodded. The children came in with the baggage and Bruce said, “The same guest rooms, Dick.”

“Yes, Master.”

The children brought the suitcases up the stairs, Bruce and Dinah heading for the library.

“What have you got?” Dinah asked.

“Not much.” Bruce paced up-and-down, his tightly-coiled movements no surprise. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. Dinah doubted that he’d slept since the kidnapping yesterday.

She refused to call it a robbery. Despite society’s view, she considered slaves to be people.

“We might have a lead connected to a slave smuggling ring. Robin and I will be following that up tonight.”

“Need some help?”

Bruce nodded, folding his arms. He stopped by the windows, staring out at the sea.

“We’ll find him, Bruce.”

“We have to,” Bruce said softly.

Dinah shivered at the desperation she heard in his voice.

& & & & & &

Upstairs, Dick and Melody put the luggage in the guest rooms.

“Thanks for coming, Melody.”

Melody unpacked her Mistress’ clothes. “Glad to. When we heard the news, Mistress Dinah and Master Ollie knew what they had to do. We have to find Clark.”

Dick’s stomach clenched. He was worried sick over Clark. He knew what slavers did. Bruce and Clark might think him an innocent, but circus life was far from conventional. Traveling from town to town, he had seen things that had taught him early on that the world was a dangerous place for the manacled.

He watched Melody go about her tasks, the faint scars on her arms a mark of her past.

She would know even more horrors.

“How’s Roy?”

Melody smiled. “Getting better as Speedy everyday.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the news reports. He’s a good addition to the team.”

She nodded. “He’s a really excellent archer. He’s been teaching me some tricks.” 

Dick laughed. “Figures.” His smile faded. “I hope we find Clark soon.”

Melody’s eyes were grave. “He faces…bad things, Dick.”

Their eyes met with sad knowledge.


	11. Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark learns of Edmund’s plans for him.

_My heart burns  
With the pain  
Of terror._

_Darkness drapes  
All around me._

_I am doomed._

  


**"Terror"  
Unknown Slave Poet   
1866 C.E.**

Clark couldn’t stop shaking.

_Edmund Caldwell!_

Terror swept over him, and he tried to regulate his breathing, but it was difficult with the ball gag.

He had to calm down. He had to mind his surroundings, figure out where he was, just like Batman and Robin would.

Could he get away?

He couldn’t even move, his bonds were so tight. Unlikely he was going to escape, especially if Harrison Caldwell was going to be around, too. Surely Edmund wasn’t his only captor. 

So, he would just have to survive.

Clark closed his eyes tightly. His breathing was harsh in his own ears.

That little girl…she’d tricked him. And when she had revealed herself, she had been delighted at his predicament.

He flushed at the names she had called him. Such contemptuous hatred in her voice!

He felt sorry for her. Her young mind had been poisoned by people like Edmund Caldwell. There were so many like her out there.

Ravaged by thirst, he tried to keep his head as old rumors circled around the edges of his mind. Caldwell cruelty was legendary among Gotham’s slaves, and disdained by even some freemen.

The door opened and Clark tensed.

Edmund came over to the bed and removed the ball gag. “Drink.”

Clark drank from the cup Edmund held. He gasped when his cock was grasped. 

“Relax, slut. Use the bedpan.”

Flushed with shame, Clark easily complied, his bladder desperate for release. Edmund left with the bedpan, then returned a few minutes later. Clark winced as a catheter was applied, Edmund careful of the procedure.

“There. Now no more bedpans.” Edmund patted Clark’s thigh. “You’ll get water again in a few hours. No soiling the sheets like the filthy slut you are.” Edmund’s hand petted up and down Clark’s stomach. “I’m _such_ a good father. Why, I haven’t even taken off your glasses. I’ll let Harrison do that. A special unVeiling, as it were. My other son, Halliburton, will be so jealous! Pity I can’t keep you around long enough for his birthday, too.” His hand slid up to Clark’s chest. “But, alas, we’ll only get to enjoy you this weekend. Too risky to keep you longer. The _Prince_ …” the contempt dripped from his voice “…will be wailing and gnashing his teeth.” Edmund leaned down and whispered, “The final fun will be some artistic carving before we dump your body in the lake. It’s so deep that no one will ever find your rotting bones, piece-by-piece, of course.” The cold glint of steel pressed against Clark’s sternum. “Mmm, such a lovely mouth. Can’t wait to try it out.” Edmund’s fingers twisted Clark’s right nipple viciously. The old man laughed at Clark’s cry of pain. He patted his captive’s thigh. “Scream and yell all you want, my pretty slut. No one will hear you. Too early in the season up here.” Edmund moved away from the bed. “Once Harrison and Halliburton come up from the city, we’ll start our fun. Pleasant dreams, whore.”

Edmund’s chuckle drifted back to Clark as he exited the room, closing the door behind him.

_Oh, my god._

_Bruce!!!_

_HELP ME!!!_


	12. Tea And Gingerbread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal discovers a heartbreaking truth while Dinah and Alfred worry over Clark, Bruce, and Dick.

_Gingerbread  
Is the taste  
Of home._

  


  
Emily Adams Cutler   
"Yellow Roses And Other Poems"   
1859 C.E.

Hal wheeled himself into the hospital room, sighing as he saw Steve lying so pale in the bed.

_Damned virus. They really should de-con better._

The virus brought back from Rigel had somehow gotten past the decontamination procedures. Luckily it hadn’t been a general flight but a military craft with only two people. The base here on the moon had been affected, but the virus had been contained.

_Just our rotten luck to be up here._

Hal had been feeling better and had accompanied Steve to Moonbase Alpha. By a toss of the dice, Hal hadn’t fallen ill. He was getting stronger every day, and would be able to start walking again soon.

_Now this._

Hal listened to the beeping machines and rested a hand on Steve’s arm.

_Still too cold._

He missed Steve’s golden tan and beautiful smile.

And his heart.

_It’s your own damned fault._

Hal gazed out at the blank moonscape, the Earth a stunning backdrop.

_“Diana…my beautiful Angel…I’m so sorry…”_

Who was this ‘Diana’ Steve had called for in his delirium, and how long had Steve been in love with her? 

A moan from Steve caught his attention, and Hal quickly looked over at the bed.

“Right here, Stevie.”

Blue eyes fluttered open. “H…Hal?”

“Right here, buddy.”

Steve groaned, trying to move. “Limbs…so heavy.”

“It’s all right. It’s to be expected after what you went through.” Hal brushed back the hair from Steve’s eyes. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine now.”

Steve stared at Hal, then smiled. “Water,” he rasped.

Hal quickly poured a glass of water from the bedside pitcher, helping Steve drink it.

“Go back to sleep, Stevie. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Steve nodded, his eyes sliding shut.

Hal watched him sleep, sadness in his brown eyes.

& & & & & &

Bruce fell asleep at the computer, the bats squeaking overhead. Dick looked at him sadly.

Bruce had barely slept since Clark had been taken. It didn’t look like an exactly comfortable position, but Dick hated to wake Bruce up.

Melody crept over. “He’s so tired.”

Dick nodded. He slid out of his chair and escorted his friend to the Batmobile bay so they wouldn’t disturb Bruce. “He won’t rest until we find Clark.”

“I know.” Melody sighed. “There’s just no leads, are there?”

“None.” Dick looked frustrated. “We got nothing from Z…Zucco.”

Melody frowned. “This is not good, Dick. There has to be _some_ leads!”

Dick felt despondent. “We _have_ to find him, Melody.” He blinked back tears.

Melody touched his shoulder. “We will, Dick.”

Dick smiled a little.

& & & & & &

Dinah sighed. She went into the kitchen, glad to see Alfred.

“This kitchen wouldn’t be the same without you, Alfred.”

“I should think so.”

Dinah smiled. “Mmm, that gingerbread smells heavenly.”

“Sit down, m’lady, and you shall have it warm from the oven.”

Dinah took a seat at the table and Alfred served the gingerbread, Dinah closing her eyes as she took a bite.

“Mmm.”

Alfred smiled as he took his seat. “I’m glad you enjoy it.”

“Alfred, you’re a marvel.”

“You are too generous, Mistress.”

Dinah squeezed his hand. “Not generous enough.” Her smile faded. “I’m worried about Bruce.”

“You should be.” Dinah withdrew her hand. “He hasn’t slept in nearly 48 hours.”

“Not surprising.”

“No.” Alfred stared at his plate of gingerbread. “It will kill Bruce if he loses Clark.” 

Dinah noticed the lack of ‘Master’ in front of Bruce’s name. Her heart contracted as she knew how worried Alfred was.

“He’s had difficult losses.”

Alfred nodded. “And this one would be just as bad.”

Dinah’s eyes met Alfred’s. The truth of that statement stretched between them.

“How is Dick holding up?” she asked softly.

“A little better, but he loves Clark dearly.” Alfred picked up his fork. “They bonded instantly that terrible night at the circus.”

“Yes, Bruce told me.” Dinah ate another piece of gingerbread. “A very sad tale, but heartwarming as Dick instantly took to Clark.”

“It was quite heartwarming as Master Bruce described it. The child was in shock, still wearing his circus costume when brought home. Poor little soul.”

“He seems quite happy now, or at least, before Clark’s kidnapping.”

Alfred nodded. “Partly due to Clark.”

“Clark is such a sweet soul, isn’t he?”

“Very” Alfred took a bite. “He is…vulnerable.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Not just because he’s a slave.”

Surprised, Dinah cocked her head.

“He’s strong, do not ‘get me wrong’, as you say. Any slave must be to survive. Did Master Bruce tell you of what Clark suffered at the hands of the slavers?”

“No, but I can guess.”

“Yes, and even those imaginings do not quite live up to the actuality.”

Alfred rose and poured out two cups of tea after a silent inquiry of Dinah, who nodded. He brought over both cups and sat down again.

“He was also humiliated by the guards at Knickerbocker Hall the night before he was sold to Master Bruce. And who knows what else he suffered before that? He can’t remember.”

Dinah took a sip of tea. “I know. It can’t be easy.” She thought of Melody’s life before coming to her and Ollie.

“The point is that Clark is strong, but vulnerable. He has a goodness in him that attracts people, and sometimes those who want to hurt him.”

Dinah put her teacup in its saucer. “Vulnerability attracts the jackals.”

Alfred nodded. “Quite. The sweetness and genuine belief in the goodness of people makes him terribly vulnerable.”

Dinah felt fear curl through her. She had observed the same thing.

“Clark is…I wouldn’t say delicate. He has survived worse things than I ever knew, or Dick ever suffered, aside from the murder of his parents, of course, but as a slave…” Alfred sighed. “Dick has seen events that are difficult, especially for one so young, but he has survived. He is a strong little boy.” They both smiled. “He understands the way of things. Clark…Clark doesn’t remember this world’s harshness, and he is hurt by it frequently.”

“Do you mean, Alfred, that his gentleness makes him so empathic that he’s hurt by and vulnerable to this world’s cruelties, even more so than Dick?”

Alfred sighed. “Dick _and_ Clark must be shielded, though Dick has seen more.”

“But if Clark’s so strong…”

“Even the strongest of us can break, Miss Dinah.”

Dinah thought of the screams in the night from Melody and Roy, children callously abused by sadistic Masters and a system that had been in place for hundreds of years.

She had seen enough of Clark to know that what Alfred said was true.

She sipped her tea. “We _will_ find Clark, Alfred.”

“I certainly hope so, Miss Dinah. I miss our times together like this, chatting over tea and gingerbread.”

“He’s a very good companion, isn’t he?”

“Very good.” Alfred drank his tea. “He…I fear what he may be going through.”

Dinah nodded. “I understand.”

Alfred’s gray-blue eyes looked at her. “He is so vital to this Family, Miss Dinah: to me, to Dick, and to Master Bruce. We _all_ need him.” 

Dinah rested her hand on Alfred’s. “Ollie’s coming in with Roy tonight. We’re going to keep searching until we find him. That I vow.”

Alfred looked at her with respect, and she knew that she would never give up.


	13. Nightmare's Whisper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperation brings the Darkness.

_The nightmare whispers,  
Borne on the breeze,  
Horrific visions,  
Sadistic tease._

  


**Eli Stone  
"Nightmare’s Whisper"   
2011 C.E.**

_“No! Please! Don’t!”_

_Clark struggled as he was dragged out of his cage, the rocky ground tearing the skin off his knees. The leering slaver tugged on his collar chain, Clark toppling over._

_“Whatta stupid slut! Your knees are the place you’re meant to be.” The massive slaver laughed, dragging Clark forward, forcing him to move on his knees. “Not so pretty now, are you, padding along like a dog, huh?” He yanked Clark’s head up painfully. “Not so high-and-mighty now, are you? Trailin’ at the heels of the Prince, you figured you were a pretty big deal, huh? The Prince’s Prize ain’t so grand now, are ya?”_

_Clark gasped as a harsh tug on the collar chain hurt his neck. He groaned as he was dragged up, his face pressed against the slaver’s groin. Thick fingers carded through his hair, the slaver’s hips moving._

_“Mmm, for a slut you’re not bad.” The slaver yanked Clark’s head back and unbuckled his belt. “Now, that mouth of yours is made for a little cock-tastin’. And, hey, this time you’re not a virgin!” Calloused hands grabbed Clark’s hips as another slaver came up behind him, pulling his ass cheeks apart._

_Clark struggled. “Please, no! Don’t do this!”_

_Both slavers laughed as the first slaver rubbed his cock against Clark’s mouth, the second slaver plunging his engorged cock into Clark’s ass. The first slaver crooned, “No Prince’s pet anymore, eh? Just another slut doin’ what you were born to do!”_

_A scream sounded from somewhere in the distance. Clark gasped and gagged as the slaver withdrew. “That’s Dick!” He tried to get away. “Please, I have to save him!”_

_The slaver snorted and started to shove his cock back into Clark’s mouth. “You’re not finished here, slut,” he growled, stroking his victim’s face and throat as he started to push back in…_

_Another scream…_

& & & & & &

Bruce sat bolt upright on the couch, shaking violently and covered in sweat. It was dark, the living room drapes drawn. Heart pounding, he looked around wildly.

“Dick,” he breathed. He leapt off the couch, hurrying upstairs to Dick’s room, but it was empty. Sagging against the wall, he spotted the nightstand clock.

_Of course. It’s only six o’clock. Not even patrol time yet._

Dick could be in the gym or out in the garden with Melody and Roy. Ollie and his Squire had arrived this morning.

He was still trembling. Dick was fine, but Clark? He shut his eyes against the images from his nightmare.

_Oh, Clark._

Exhausted, he slid to the floor and put his head down on his knees.

& & & & & &

Ollie snapped his cellphone shut. “Damn.”

Dinah sighed as she watched the children in the garden. They were sitting at the table, shaded by a yellow-and-white striped umbrella. “Nothing?”

“Yeah.” Frustration showed in the blond’s face. “With every passing hour, the likelihood of finding Clark gets lower and lower.”

“Bruce will go out of his mind.”

“I know.” Ollie rubbed his eyes. “Dinah, I’m very worried about Clark, but I’m just as worried about Bruce, too.” He looked at her gravely. “You didn’t see him after his parents deaths. It took him years to function normally again.”

Dinah shivered. “I know. To see them gunned down right in front of his eyes…”

“It’s tough. I never saw my parents’ bodies. Uncle Andrew didn’t allow it. It was a closed casket funeral for both.” Dinah laid a hand on his arm. “I wanted to see them, but the plane crash messed them up too badly.” Ollie took a deep breath. “I got a chance to say goodbye, but it was to a couple of coffins. Still, at least I know they died.” His eyes met Dinah’s. “What if Bruce never learns Clark’s fate? What if he spends the rest of his life wondering if Clark’s still alive and suffering, or died a horrible death?”

“Please don’t, Ollie,” Dinah pleaded softly.

“I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m getting all morbid, I know.”

Dinah sighed. “It’s hard not to. Not only this with Clark, but first Hal so sick after his disappearance in space and now Steve falls ill.”

“Good thing that virus was contained on the moonbase.”

Dinah frowned. “Surely _someone_ saw Clark being taken! It was downtown Gotham, for heaven’s sake!”

Ollie stood up. “I just can’t sit around here.”

“It’s too early for patrol.”

“Yeah, but every second counts. I’m going on the computer and see what I can scare up.”

Ollie headed for the Manor.

He entered through the kitchen, picking up a shiny green apple as he strode toward the library.

“Bruce!” He hurried forward to the hunched figure on the floor. “You look like hell. Are you sick?”

Bruce nodded. “Sick with worry,” he rasped. He grabbed Ollie’s arm. “What’s happening to Clark right now?”

Ollie hid his wince at Bruce’s bruising grip. He put his hand over his friend’s. “I don’t know. We can only hope for the best.”

“That’s not good enough!” Bruce stood up. Anger dripped from every word. “He could be in some harem or off-world or some brothel! He could be…be…”

Ollie understood all too well. “Bruce, we _will_ find him.”

“When?” Bruce snapped. “When it’s too late?”

Ollie kept a rein on his own temper. He was frustrated, too, but how much worse was it for Bruce? Especially if what Dinah suspected about Bruce’s true feelings was correct.

“You and I combine our resources, and we’re unstoppable.”

Bruce stared, then nodded curtly.

“Let’s go to the Cave. It’ll be time for patrol soon.”

Ollie followed Bruce through the clock and down the stone steps.


	14. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmund’s patience runs out.

_Floating,  
Stars  
All around  
Me._

_Free,  
While my body  
Is trapped  
Below._

  


**Alline du Maurier  
"Crushed Petals"   
2068 C.E.  
**

Clark fought down his panic.

He _had_ to remain calm, figure a way out of this. That was what Batman and Robin would do.

He tested his bonds.

No help there.

If he couldn’t get away, then he would have to survive. He had the weekend before they would kill him. No matter what vile, disgusting things they forced him to do, he would do it. He _had_ to stay alive long enough to be rescued.

And if he wasn’t rescued?

Then he would go down fighting.

He tried to calm his racing heart. He knew that he was in major trouble. The Caldwells would try and jam several days of ‘fun’ into one weekend.

He shivered, wishing that he had a blanket.

Edmund had mentioned the lake, and that it was “early in the season”. He peered around the room.

Wood paneling, like an old-fashioned cabin.

So he was in the mountains?

Then he probably wasn’t too far from Gotham. Hope flared in his chest. Surely Bruce and Dick could puzzle this out and come for him!

The door opened. Clark tensed as Edmund came in.

The old man sat on the bed, pushing a cup to Clark’s lips after he removed the ball gag.

“Drink.”

Clark obeyed, desperately thirsty. He didn’t like the catheter but it was better than soiling the bed.

Edmund patted his cheek. “Good slut,” he crooned, his hand stroking Clark’s throat and down to his chest, brushing a nipple. At Clark’s tensing, Edmund laughed.

“Relax, whore. Keep up your strength. You’ll need it.”

Clark tried to stay calm. The more he showed his fear, the more the old sadist would taunt him. He tried not to shiver as the wizened hand touched him all over.

“I’ve been very patient, but you are delectable.” This time Clark did shiver as Edmund stroked his buttocks. “I think I’ll take a taste.” The voice was amused. “I don’t think Harrison will mind.”

Suddenly the coldness of steel touched his face just below his right eye under his glasses. Edmund leaned forward and whispered, “If you want to keep your eye, you’ll open your mouth when I’m ready.”

Edmund climbed up on the bed and unzipped his pants, taking his cock out. Rubbing it over Clark’s face he touched it to his lips, leaving a trail of glistening precum, his hand snaking around to grab Clark’s hair.

“Open your cocksucking mouth, slut, and do what you’re made for.”

Clark’s mind raced. He wasn’t going to be killed, not this early, but he would lose his eye. Being a one-eyed slut wouldn’t prevent him from performing.

Closing his eyes, he opened his mouth.

“Mmm, that’s a good slut.”

Clark checked out.

He immediately went into the state of mind he’d learned in the slavers’ camp: he felt as if this was happening to someone else.

His mind subconsciously registered Edmund’s lustful grunts, the squeaking movement of the bed, the fingers wrapped in his hair, the bulk of the hard flesh in his mouth and the smell of arousal.

He was drifting, his jaw muscles working to pleasure his rapist, but he felt no emotion. He was locked down, only dimly aware of Edmund’s thrusts and the hand digging into his thigh.

“Yeeesss, this mouth was _made_ to suck cock.”

The taunts rolled over him like a cascade of water, and suddenly he slammed back to reality as thick semen flowed down his throat, and as Edmund withdrew, he coughed and gagged, despising the taste of Edmund Caldwell’s cum bitter in his mouth.

Edmund laughed, shaking himself off, droplets splashing onto Clark’s chest.

“Oh, you are talented.” Cleaning himself off with a tissue, he tucked his penis back into his pants and zipped up. “Marvelous! I _knew_ that mouth was made to take cock.” He stroked Clark’s throat. “Since it’s Harrison’s birthday, I’ll let him decide whether he’d rather be sucked off first or fuck you. Either way, I’ll take the other end. Halliburton can wait.” His other hand stroked Clark’s shoulders. “Age has its privileges.” His voice grew husky. “I can’t wait to spread your legs as far as they’ll go. You know, Harrison’s even bigger than me, but I have faith you can handle him, ass or mouth. You certainly were built to serve!”

The stroking stopped and Clark gasped as a sharp slap rocked his head, Edmund laughing as he left Clark with stinging eyes and cheek and a bitter taste in his mouth.


	15. Precious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Batman rages through Gotham, Lex tries to find Clark.

_My Master feeds me  
With his loving care,  
His spirit is my spirit  
My body is his body,  
We are One._

  


**Jewel  
King Jolan’s _Ja’Zel_   
"Jewel In The Crown"   
1606 C.E.**

The criminals fled the Batman in terror. He raged through Gotham, beating up anyone who even looked at him askance. He demanded information on the city’s highest-profile case, the Prince’s stolen Prize.

Through it all, the bright Robin remained at his side, solemnity dampening his brightness, but he never left Batman and tempered the Dark Knight’s anger.

By the end of the evening, Bruce was nearly shattered. He was blind with fear and worry, and Dick couldn’t blame him.

Time was running out, because the longer it passed, the harder it would be to find Clark, and the more likely it would be that Clark would suffer.

Dick understood. He was young, but he had heard his parents described as pieces of meat by the men waiting their turn in the special circus tent, and had heard other things spoken of crudely. He knew what could be happening to Clark right now.

Bruce would die a little every day if Clark was lost to them forever.

_Oh, Clark, where **are** you?_

Depressed, Batman and Robin returned to the Batcave.

Black Canary, Green Arrow and Speedy arrived soon after. Their grim looks told Bruce and Dick all they needed to know.

“We must be missing something,” Bruce growled. “Let’s go over it again.”

The Arrows took seats but Dick was too restless to sit. He stood by the computer as Bruce paced, his cowl pushed back.

Melody crept down the stairs and made herself invisible in the shadows. Dick surmised sadly that she’d had plenty of practice before joining the Queen Household in that particular art 

“Clark, Dick and I were in Gotham in the downtown area. Dick was beside me and Clark right behind me when I stopped to talk to Cordelia Standish.” Bruce’s eyes were distant as he remembered that awful day. “Then shooting started and we hit the dirt. By the time it was all over, Clark was gone.” Bruce rubbed his face. “No one saw anything.”

Dick felt his stomach tense. How could a man just disappear without a trace?

Bruce’s pace became more frenetic. Dick sympathized. He felt like running through the Cave, screaming at the top of his lungs. 

But of course, Batman’s partner could not do that.

Nor could Bruce Wayne’s slave.

He felt the urge to pray but discarded it. A deity who could allow the sufferings of so many in this world was not one he wished to pray to. Better to put his faith in people like the ones in this Cave.

_We’ll find you, Clark. We’ll never give up trying until we do._

The bats squeaked up high up in the rafters as gloom settled over the Cave.

& & & & & &

Lex frowned as he studied the reports in front of his desk. Sighing, he shoved them away and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

_Guess Bruce’s situation has me more shaken up than I thought._

Of course the kidnapping was all over the news, and Lex shivered. He didn’t want to think what was happening to Clark right now.

He had set his people on the case but nothing had turned up. He wasn’t going to ease up until Clark was found.

“Master.”

The soft voice brought his head up. “Ah, Jamie.” He smiled as his slave entered the study. “What is it, Precious?”

Jamie smiled shyly. “Cook asked me if you would like French or Italian tonight.”

“Hmm, why don’t you choose?”

Jamie’s smile grew radiant. “Italian?”

“Sounds fine to me.”

Jamie hurried off to inform Cook.

Lex thought of Jamie missing and shuddered. The delicate beauty of his pleasure slave attracted the rapacious.

Vulnerability was lethal for a slave.

“Good morning, son.”

“Hello, Dad. When did you get in?”

“Late last night.” Lionel tossed his folio on the desk. “How are you doing here?”

“Good. The Rigellian deal is in the works and going smoothly.”

“Excellent.” Lionel sat down in the chair in front of the desk. “I hear your old buddy lost a slave.”

“Yes.” Lex picked up a stylus and began twirling it. “Looks like professional slavers took him.”

“Slave-stealers,” Lionel corrected. “Slavers are licensed.”

“Well, whatever the case, Bruce’s Prize is gone.”

“A pity.”

“Yes.”

“I fear that even if Bruce gets his Pretty back, he’ll be damaged goods.”

Lex’s stomach tightened. “You’re probably right.”

“Hmph, Edmund Caldwell is probably delighted no end. He despises Bruce.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you why that is, Dad.”

Lionel waved his hand. “He’s envious of Bruce’s princely status. The Caldwells arrived on the ship that brought the first settlers to Gotham along with the Waynes. Down through the centuries the Waynes assumed the premier prominence.” Lionel grinned. “Edmund, of course, goes crazy at the thought.”

Lex smirked. “I can imagine.”

“Yes, well, Bruce would do well to stay out of Edmund’s way. He’s a sadistic old bastard.”

Lex shuddered. “His mistreatment of slaves is legendary.”

“Have they investigated Edmund on this?”

“He’s been out off-world for two weeks. There’s no evidence or even a hint of it that he’s involved.”

Lionel looked thoughtful. “I practice sadomasochism, as you well know, Lex, but have you noticed that I use free partners for more exotic play? Or specially-chosen slaves?”

Lex frowned. “Now that you mention it…”

Lionel smiled. “Sadomasochism with slaves if just torture, unless the slaves are selected and trained via the Jovaran Method.”

“Jovaran Method?”

Lionel nodded, steepling his fingers as he sat back and crossed his legs. “The Jovarans identify those slaves in adolescence who show inclinations to liking sadomasochism. They are specially-trained so that by the time they’re of age, they’re ready to serve.”

“How convenient.”

Lionel laughed. “The Jovarans aren’t like us when it comes to their slaves, son. They don’t degrade and humiliate them for the hell of it. They actually respect the manacled to some degree, especially the pleasure slaves.

“Did you know that Jovaran pleasure slaves are always educated? They are expected to converse intelligently with their Masters and Mistresses, to cultivate talents such as writing, painting, singing...sort of like courtesans used to do here on Earth.”

“But they still keep them in bondage.”

“They do.” Lionel smiled. “Like us, they can be ambivalent. They expect their slaves to be obedient and to serve, but the slaves have a far wider range of freedoms that only certain Masters allow here.”

“So do we have a lot of slaves trained in this method?”

“No. That’s why it’s so rare to get a slave trained in BDSM. I find BDSM with slaves not trained properly to be too much of giving up power.”

“So you don’t like them having the safeword, eh?” 

Lionel laughed. “Slaves don’t have a safeword usually, but the trained ones know how to let a Master know if they’ve gone too far.”

“So let me get this straight: trained BDSM slaves get as much pleasure out of the relationship as the Masters?”

Lionel nodded. “The Abos would say that isn’t true; the slaves have no choice, but it’s not about choice, it’s about inclination. There are freemen who enjoy bondage, playing slave for a weekend. It’s a part of them. Same for certain slaves.” 

“Interesting.”

“Yes, well, men like Edmund Caldwell don’t care for the niceties or subtleties. They just like to cause pain, not pleasure.” Lionel looked at Lex shrewdly. “So your people haven’t turned up anything?”

You know me well, Dad.

Lex shook his head.

“A pity.” Lionel rose from his chair. “Bruce is good people. I hate to see him hurt, or his slave.”

“I learn something new about you every day, Dad.”

Lionel chuckled. “Good to know, son.”

Lex watched his father leave the study. He truly was a complex man.

“Master?”

Lex looked up to see his beautiful Prize standing in the doorway.

“Yes?”

“Would you like a snack?”

Lex smiled warmly. “Yes, thank you. How about some of Cook’s peanut butter cookies?”

Jamie smiled. “Coming right up.”

Lex was awfully lucky. Bruce had given him a great gift.

He wouldn’t rest until Clark was found.


	16. Hear The Screams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark learns what it means to be at the non-mercy of Edmund Caldwell.

_The Darkness  
Claws at me  
With bloody talons._

_Hear the screams  
Of the tortured  
And know,  
You are next._

  


**Everett Brighall  
"Prison Walls"   
2121 C.E.**

_Clark was shaking, the cold seeping into his bones. He was naked in the Darkness until a harsh voice said, “Put this on,” coarse cloth scratching his skin. He put it on, pulling the hood over his head, shadowing his face, and began to walk, toward a pure and beautiful Light._

_He cringed at the Light, feeling dirty, skulking in the shadows as yearning gnawed at him. Suddenly he heard Bruce’s voice. Joy leapt up in his chest as he ran toward the beloved voice._

_“Clark!”_

_There was matching joy in Bruce’s voice, and Dick and Alfred and Brendan were close behind him, Clark reaching out his arms, his hood falling back._

_The expressions of joy turned to horror, then revulsion. They all took a step back, Clark stopping, confused, then he saw himself in the full-length mirror, suddenly naked as the coarse robe fell away._

_His right eye was gone, blood and viscous liquid weeping down a once-beautiful face as scars criss-crossed his face and burned on his body, marked with the knife slashes and teeth marks of his captors, his body starting to break up and float away on the cold lake…_

& & & & & &

Clark jerked awake, shaking with the scream still stuck in his dry throat as his body trembled violently. 

He could still taste Edmund Caldwell in his mouth. 

Disgusted, he let his rage take over.

It was better than the fear.

He entertained himself with thoughts of revenge, trying to loosen his bonds, but of course Caldwells were proficient in bondage.

_I **have** to stay alive. Bruce and Dick will come for me. They’ll figure it out. I have to do my part._

_No matter how disgusting it is._

He tried to relax, which was, of course, impossible.

He strained to hear anything. If Edmund’s sons arrived, he would be in deep trouble. 

Footsteps approached and Clark tensed, fear curling around his gut as the door opened.

“Ah, my sweet slut. Resting comfortably?” Edmund sounded very cheerful. He came around the bed and sat down on the edge, running his hand over Clark’s chest and stomach.

Clark waited, preparing himself for another attack.

“Here, drink up.”

Despite his wariness, Clark greedily drank the water that Edmund offered as the old man held his head.

“Good slut.”

Clark swallowed, eager to get the taste of Edmund out of his mouth.

Edmund patted his thigh. “Bruce does like the pretty ones. That circus slut of his will grow up to be something quite lovely.” Clark’s insides went cold, then his stomach flipped as Edmund smiled. “I have a treat for you.”

Edmund rose from the bed and left the room.

_No, no, no. Please… **whatever’s** up there… **whoever’s** up there…help Bruce find me. Please. **Please!**_

Clark’s resolve was wavering. He knew he’d been fairly lucky as a slave. Despite his memory loss, it was a good bet he’d been well-treated growing up. The slavers’ doctor had certified that he was a virgin, and since he was in his twenties, that suggested a high form of protection. Even though he had suffered at the hands of the slavers and auction guards, he knew it still wasn’t as bad as some slaves’ suffering.

_I have to be strong. I **have** to be._

Edmund wheeled in a…tray…a…?

…television?

Wondering what the old sadist was up to, Clark remained silent. 

“Harrison and Hallliburton will be here soon. Business can be irritating at times, but of course, is necessary.” Edmund plugged in the small portable set. A vidcorder was on top of the TV. “Your Master knows that, I suppose.” Edmund sat back down again and absently rubbed Clark’s buttocks. “They call him Prince, but of course that’s absolute rubbish.” He stroked Clark’s inner thigh. _“Prince!_ Tabloid nonsense. He’s about as royal as you are.” He traced Clark’s pelvic bone. “My family’s been here as long as the Waynes. Silly fools crowning him the Prince of Gotham. America _has_ no royalty.”

Edmund leaned back, staring at the shutters covering the window. Clark could do nothing but wait, trying to calm his wild nerves. 

“He really has nerve, you know. Allowing himself to be called ‘Prince’. Arrogant bastard.” He looked down and smiled at Clark. “Prince’s Pet,” he sing-songed.

Clark’s blood ran cold at the gleam in Edmund’s eyes.

_**Please** hurry, Bruce._

Edmund patted his thigh and stood. “It must be boring to lay around here all day and stare up at the ceiling with nothing else to do. I have a little show here you might find interesting. Help answer any questions you might have about what you’ll be doing soon. You might want to take notes.”

Edmund turned on the TV and left the room.

Puzzled, Clark watched as a disc began to play.

Horror dawned as he realized what he was watching: a disc of Edmund and his sons ‘enjoying’ their slaves, different sessions going by in a kaleidoscope of disturbing images, then slowing down, desperate pleas for mercy laughingly ignored.

When the screaming began, Clark squeezed his eyes shut.

He couldn’t block out the screams.


	17. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does the Family have a solid lead to follow?

_The Gods flicked their fingers  
And all was revealed._

  


**Elysia  
"Laurel Leaves   
And Other   
Amazonian Poems"   
326 B.C.E.**

Lex frowned as he looked over Lexcorp’s quarterly reports. Ordinarily he was very interested in the reports, because he liked to know exactly what his company was doing and what kind of profit had been made.

He didn’t really care today.

He was too worried about Clark, and by extension, Bruce.

The lack of clues was frustrating but not surprising. Professional slave-stealers rarely left any behind, and the rate of recovery was fairly low.

He didn’t want to think what would happen if Clark was lost forever.

He wanted to see Bruce healthy and happy. For far too many years he hadn’t really enjoyed life. Clark and later, Dick, had given him that: the chance to enjoy life again.

He sighed.

“Master?” He looked up to see Jamie regarding him with concern. “Is all well?”

Lex felt warmth spread through him. “I’m fine. I just wish Bruce was.”

Jamie’s emerald eyes were sad. “I am asking the Gods for his safe return.”

Lex cocked his head. “I didn’t know you were religious.”

“Not in the usual sense. I mean most churches don’t allow slaves to attend services. The Pagan religions will, or at least some of them.”

“Do you pray?”

“Sometimes.” Jamie happily accepted Lex’s unspoken invitation and curled up on his lap. “The Gods and Goddesses don’t promise salvation or that if you have faith, all will be rewarded. They promise the turn of the seasons, maybe love or caring if you’re lucky, but don’t make you feel guilty for having normal human urges.”

“Aren’t you a smart one?” Lex kissed Jamie’s temple. “Pray for Clark and Bruce, my ka _'tare.”_

Jamie nodded with a small smile.

The phone rang and Lex answered it. “Bruce! Any word?” Disappointment flitted across his face. “I’m sorry.” Jamie watched his Master’s face. “I’ve had people on it, but nothing…” Lex listened, frowning. _Interruption,_ he mouthed. Lex amused himself by rubbing Jamie’s back, the blond smiling. “Bruce, what…?” Lionel entered the room, raising his head at the mention of Bruce’s name. “Edmund Caldwell?”

& & & & & &

Melody held the cellphone tightly to her ear. “Thank you, Evangeline. Don’t worry, I won’t mention your name.” She snapped the phone off and hurried down to the hall to Dinah and Ollie’s room, knocking on the door. “Mistress!”

The door opened. “Goodness! What is it, dear?” Dinah asked.

“I think I may know who has Clark!”

Dinah’s eyes widened and she grabbed Melody’s shoulders. “Who?” she demanded.

“Evangeline, my old friend on the Caldwell staff, says Master Edmund left the house the day of Clark’s disappearance, not a few weeks before like people said.” Her eyes were solemn and a little afraid. “He really hates Lord Bruce.”

Dinah’s eyes grew just as solemn. “We must tell Bruce.”

She and Melody hurried to the library.

Melody was frightened by how tired Bruce looked. The young Master was not doing well.

“So nothing?” Bruce frowned as he held the phone. “Damn, Lex…”

“Bruce!” Dinah said urgently.

He saw her intensity and asked, “What?”

“Melody says that one of her contacts at the Caldwell estate says Edmund left the day of Clark’s disappearance when he was supposed to be off-world.”

“Edmund?” Bruce’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Where did he go?” he asked Melody.

“My…my contact didn’t know, but his sons Harrison and Halliburton plan to leave for the weekend.”

Melody shivered. Those three monsters together were up to something; she knew it. She tried to shut out the memory of Danny's screams from the basement of the Caldwell mansion.

Bruce fingers gripped the phone hard. “Yes, Lex, Melody says that the sons are planning to take off for the weekend. Damn, why didn’t I check Edmund out more closely? Just because he was said to be off-world didn’t mean…” Bruce rubbed between his eyes.

& & & & &

Lex frowned. “But even if Edmund is the kidnapper, he must have at least a dozen places around the world. At which one would we find him?”

Lionel was standing at the bookcase. He snapped his fingers. “The cabin!”

“What?”

Lionel hurried to the desk. “The Caldwells have an old-fashioned cabin up in the Adirondacks. It’s early in the season and unlikely that anyone else would be up there.”

Lex heard the unspoken _unlikely anyone would hear Clark’s screams._

“Bruce…”

He relayed the information and heard voices on the other end of the line again.

_“Thanks, Lex. Melody can give us directions. I’ll let you know what happens. Oh, and tell Lionel he may have saved the day.”_

“Good luck, Bruce.”

Lex sighed as he hung up.

“Let’s hope the cabin is the right place.”

Lionel nodded as Jamie hugged Lex, worry in his green eyes.


	18. Saved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bats and Arrows make their way to the Adirondacks.

_I stand  
On the precipice,  
Ready to fall,  
And then  
You are there,  
To save me._

  


**Brian Blessingame  
"On The Precipice"   
2216 C.E.**

Batman stealthily approached the cabin, a black wraith in the leafless woods. 

Fortunately, many of the trees were of the evergreen and spruce variety, cloaking the Bat as he came closer.

The Caldwell cabin was old-fashioned clapboard, weathered shingles a rustic touch. Tall evergreens and spruces towered over the cabin, the wind off the lake whispering through the stand.

He could see no activity around the cabin. Harrison and Halliburton Caldwell were still in Gotham, so unless Edmund had brought a staff with him, he would be the only one here.

If he was here at all.

He saw a flash of sunshine several yards away. Robin.

Batman’s mouth quirked into a half-smile.

Green Arrow, Black Canary, and Speedy were also approaching from different directions.

Batman concentrated on the cabin again. The windows were still shuttered, but Edmund might not want to advertise his presence here.

_Especially since he has another man’s slave._

Batman very carefully did not dwell on Clark the human being. He needed a clear head in order to pull this off. Emotions were…dangerous.

Very carefully he crept up to the cabin. It would be a good idea to get inside. Not many rooms to search. If Clark was there…

Batman opened the shutters, relieved that there was no creaking or other noises.

The blinds were drawn. He tested the sash. Locked.

A few minutes later the window opened, courtesy of tools from his utility belt. He slipped inside, the blinds rattling.

Batman’s eyes adjusted to the gloom. He saw a dresser, ladderback chair, portable TV, and bed, and on that bed...

_Clark!_

Batman’s heart raced.

_Oh, god, oh, god!_

Clark was naked and spread-eagled on the bed, chains glinting in the light streaming in through the window.

“Clark,” Batman whispered.

Clark turned a tear-stained face.

“Bruce,” he breathed.

Batman touched his shoulder, Clark trembling. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“Yes.”

& & & & & &

**Thirty Minutes Ago**

Edmund entered the room and shut off the TV. “So, did you enjoy the preview of what is to come?” At Clark’s silence the old man smiled. He came around the bed and sat down, stroking Clark’s thigh. “Oh, so much pleasure we’re going to receive. You?” He pinched Clark’s thigh viciously, a small whimper reaching his ears. “Not very vocal, are you? We’ll change that.”

Edmund chuckled and leaned forward, whispering in Clark’s ear, “Even if your so-called Prince rescued you, whore, he would never look at you the same way again. My seed is in you. He’ll never stand for that.”

Edmund gently patted Clark’s cheek and rose. “The boys will be here soon. Sleep, my salacious slut. You’ll get very little of it this weekend.”

The door closed behind Edmund.

Clark let the tears flow.

& & & & & &

  
**The Present**   


Batman held on tightly as Clark clung desperately, shaking as if he was going to break apart.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Batman crooned, smoothing Clark’s hair.

Finally he pulled away. “I have to go and put the fear of the Bat into Edmund.”

“Don’t leave me,” Clark whispered.

Batman hesitated. He couldn’t let Edmund get away with this, yet he didn’t want Clark anywhere near the old thief.

“Here, get dressed.”

He had carried clothes for Clark in a pouch attached to his utility belt: boxers, sweatpants, sweatshirt, socks, sneakers. He helped Clark get dressed, his lover still shaking. He grimly noted the bruises on Clark’s arms, chest and thighs, but saw no other evidence of abuse.

“Stay here.”

A hand shot up and grabbed his arm.

“Please don’t go.”

“Clark, I…”

Suddenly a glittering waif slipped in through the window. “I’ll stay with you, Clark.”

“Thanks, Robin.” Batman kissed Clark’s temple. “Stay.” He slipped out of the bedroom.

& & & & & &

Robin saw Clark shaking. He immediately wrapped him in a fierce hug.

“It’s all right, Clark. You’re safe now.” Robin stroked Clark’s back, murmuring reassurances.

“I couldn’t help them,” Clark whispered.

Robin frowned. Who was Clark talking about? He was probably confused. Maybe Old Man Caldwell had drugged him.

“Let’s sit on the bed,” Robin said gently. He was afraid that Clark was going to keel over.

Once seated, Robin kept stroking Clark’s arm while Clark held his hand in a deathgrip.

He looked Clark over, frowning slightly as a he saw a tiny scar by Clark’s right eye. He thought for sure that he saw bruising around his mouth, too, his stomach sinking.

Well, if that was the worse…he knew what Clark had endured in the slavers’ camp. Not pleasant and still rape, but maybe he’d been spared further indignities.

He certainly hoped so.

“Are you all right?” Clark asked, his voice faint.

“What?” After all that Clark had suffered, he was worried about him? “I’m fine.” He hugged Clark tightly.

& & & & & &

The Batman approached Edmund Caldwell in the living room, staying in the shadows. The old man was sitting in an easy chair, reading a book.

“Edmund Caldwell,” the Bat rasped.

Edmund looked up as the Bat melted out of the gloom. “Damn.” He closed his book. “I suppose the _Prince_ called Gordon and then you, in turn, were called in? Pretty big gun for a whore.”

Batman carefully clamped down on his rage. He couldn’t express it, otherwise he’d reveal too much. He couldn’t be Bruce Wayne, lover and Master of this monster’s victim. He had to be the Batman, wielder of justice.

“A valuable Prize. You have no honor, Edmund Caldwell.”

Edmund laughed. “Whores aren’t a matter of honor. Sluts spread their legs and open their mouths and do what they’re told, if they know what’s good for them.”

Batman was amazed at Edmund’s _chutzpah._ Anyone else would have been quaking in their boots by now, because he was letting just enough righteous rage out to be intimidating.

“The Prize you stole is valuable property.”

_Valuable to my heart, not just my pocketbook._

Edmund waved his hand. “I’ll pay my fine and be done with it.”

“So you think that’s all?”

“Of course.” Edmund set his book on the table next to his chair. “A freeman is never charged with kidnapping a slut. One doesn’t kidnap property.” His eyes glittered with madness, reminding Batman of the Joker.

“No, but one _steals_ property.” Batman came forward and pulled Edmund to his feet, the Bat-cuffs making an appearance. He roughly pulled the old man’s arms behind his back. “You’ll still have to go before a judge.”

“Are the cuffs really necessary?” Amusement laced Edmund’s voice.

“Absolutely.” Batman whirled him around. “Your thieving days are over, Edmund Caldwell.”

Edmund took a step back as the Batman loomed over him.

Batman spoke into his commlink. “The package is ready.”

Edmund glared at him. “I’m not some _thing_ you can refer to as merchandise,” he snapped.

“Yet you refer to the Prize as worse.”

“Bah! Don’t tell me you have Abo leanings! Why people can’t get it through their heads that slaves are meant to be used by those born free is beyond me. Otherwise why would things have evolved the way they are?”

Batman remained silent.

“No answer? Tsk, tsk. All the bleeding hearts who cry buckets of crocodile tears ask why a merciful God would allow slavery? Well, obviously because He believes that some are born to serve and some are born to be used.”

The front door opened and Green Arrow and Black Canary walked in.

Batman waved his hand. “Take this one away.”

Green Arrow grinned. “With pleasure.” He grabbed Edmund’s arm and dragged him protesting out the door.

Black Canary touched Batman’s arm. “How is he?”

“Badly shaken.”

“Do you need help?”

Batman shook his head. “No. Keep watch over that old fox.”

The Canary nodded, squeezing Batman’s arm, then she went out the door.

Batman stood in the center of the cabin for a moment, pulling his cowl back. He went back to the bedroom.

& & & & & &

Clark jumped as the door opened. Robin quickly smiled at him.

“Bruce,” breathed Clark.

Robin turned and saw the uncowled Bat. Bruce smiled gently. “Ready to leave?”

Clark nodded quickly, standing up on shaky legs with Robin’s help. Bruce took Clark’s hand, pulling his cowl back on as he slipped his arm around his lover’s shoulders.

As Batman led Clark out, Robin noticed the disc sticking out of the vidcorder’s slot. He popped it out and pocketed it. Maybe it would be evidence against Old Man Caldwell.

He quickly left Clark’s former prison to follow Batman and Clark out of the cabin.


	19. Gray Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worry hangs like gray clouds over the silent journey back to Gotham.

_Is there  
A silver lining  
In gray clouds?_

_Somehow  
I doubt it._

  


**Arthur Pendragon  
"Here Be Dragons"   
2121 C.E.**

Batman, Robin and Clark walked down to the road to a waiting van. Green Arrow and Black Canary were in the other van, Green Arrow driving and Black Canary and Speedy in the back guarding Edmund.

Batman helped Clark into the back of the van, Robin scrambling to sit next to him as Batman took the wheel.

The road was bumpy, Clark clinging tightly to Robin’s hand. Robin smiled and gently stroked Clark’s back, trying to calm him. Clark was still shaking, unable to look Robin in the eye.

_Not good._

& & & & & &

Over in the other van, Black Canary and Speedy regarded their prisoner impassively. Edmund complained about the bumpiness in between smirking.

Speedy wanted to wipe the smirk off the old man’s face. He knew what freemen were capable of. Working as a jack-of-all-trades in a brothel, he had seen some men’s darker tastes. His owner had kept a strict eye on his slaves, demanding no major damage even after a damage deposit had been required. Still, that didn’t mean some customers didn’t get carried away, deposit or not.

Edmund Caldwell looked like those men.

His gloved finger stroked back-and-forth over the curve of his bow. His fingers were itching to take the bow and bang the old sadist over the head with it.

“I’m thirsty,” Edmund announced.

“You’ll survive until we get to Gotham,” Black Canary said.

“This is cruel and inhumane treatment!”

Speedy snorted. “Considering what you did to the Wayne Prize, that’s rich.”

“You’re quite mouthy, boy.”

_You don’t know the half of it, old man._

“I would suggest keeping your opinions to yourself,” Black Canary suggested mildly.

Edmund snorted. “I have the right to free speech, young lady.”

Black Canary’s eyebrow went up but she said nothing further.

Speedy wanted to say a lot more but held his tongue. He concentrated instead on the fact that Clark was safe now.

Edmund frowned. “Though why you’re wearing that harlot’s outfit, I’ll never know.”

Black Canary blinked. “Harlot’s outfit?”

“Yes, all that tight material and those disgraceful fishnet stockings. You’re a freewoman. You should conduct yourself as such.”

“I don’t think you should be giving out fashion advice.” 

A hard bump juggled everyone, Edmund groaning. “Barbaric way to travel.”

Speedy wished the road was bumpier.

He was worried about what had happened to Clark while in Edmund’s hands. In the short amount of time that he had known Lord Wayne’s Prize, he had come to like him very much. Clark had always treated him as an equal, not just some brothel kid. Slaves had their hierarchies, just as freemen did.

Pleasure slaves were at the top of the heap, though conversely, it could be said that they were at the bottom, their primary worth on their backs.

_Beats a brothel._

A personal pleasure slave, a Prize, was highly valued, even more than the star attraction of a brothel. For one thing, a brothel star wore out far quicker than a pampered Prize. A personal bedslave was treasured, not forced to spread his legs for money.

_Or not for a sadist, if he or she is lucky._

Yes, Clark was special, and Dick adored him.

Speedy hoped that Clark hadn’t been damaged by this bastard.

Sometimes the worst wounds were not the physical ones.

& & & & & &

Clark remained silent the entire ride back to Gotham, Robin keeping up his stroking and murmurs of encouragement. He was worried over Clark’s continued shaking.

Something had to have happened.

Robin also worried about the bruising around Clark’s mouth and that cut near his eye. What else might his body tell them?

They were approaching Gotham, and Robin hoped they could get to the Manor soon.

“Batman, are we going to the GCPD?”

Batman’s mouth twisted. “We have to.”

Robin wanted to get Clark back home as soon as possible. He didn’t like the skittishness he could see in his friend. Alfred’s comforting presence and homemade chicken soup would do wonders for Clark, but Robin understood the need to go to Headquarters first.

Batman parked in the back of the old-fashioned building that housed the Gotham City Police Department. “Stay here,” Batman said as he exited the van with a swirl of cape.

Robin smiled at Clark, who tried to smile back. It was quiet in the van, Robin wondering if Clark could hear his heart pounding.

_Calm down. Clark is safe now._

Yet Robin could not help but feel the aftermath was going to be perilous.


	20. Code Of Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim takes care of Bruce’s Prize after Batman delivers him to the Precinct.

_"The Code is always honored between Gentlemen."_

  


**Bertram Ellison Adams  
"The Gentleman’s Code"   
1832 C.E.**

Night had fallen over Gotham. Jim Gordon watched as the van stopped in the alley behind the GCPD. The Batman alighted and said, “Is Bruce Wayne here?”

“Not yet. His butler called and said he’s on his way.”

“I’m entrusting his Prize to you.”

Jim nodded. “I’ll take good care of him.”

“I know.”

The van door slid open and Robin hopped out, helping the Prize down. Batman hurried over and took hold of the slave’s elbow, helping him forward.

Jim had seen more than his share of victims. Everyone reacted differently, slave or free.

In this slave’s case, he was very jittery. Jim hoped he hadn’t been raped, but with Edmund Caldwell’s reputation…

He stepped forward. “I’ll take care of Bruce’s Prize.” He smiled and gently took the slave’s arm. “You’re safe now. No one will hurt you here.”

The Prize nodded, slipping his hand into Jim’s.

By the time they had entered the building, Batman and Robin were gone.

& & & & & &

Dr. Hansen said, “You can get dressed now.” He adjusted his glasses as he wrote on his datapad.

The slave quickly put his shirt and pants on. He had been thoroughly examined, embarrassing but necessary.

The Prize had held on to Jim’s hand tightly the whole time. Flinching at the doctor’s touch, he hadn’t made a sound, but his grip had tightened.

Jim never left his side, remaining quiet but there. He was impressed by the physique exposed but very carefully didn’t indulge too much in looking. That wasn’t what Bruce’s Prize needed from him right now.

“Thanks, Doc. I’ll call you if I need you.”

The doctor nodded and left the room.

“Would you like some water? Soda or coffee?” 

The younger man started to shake his head, then changed his mind. “Water, please.”

Jim went to the door and sent an officer passing by for water. When the bottle arrived, he handed it to the Prize.

The slave drank, once again holding Jim’s hand. 

Jim’s heart ached for this young man. He couldn’t imagine what he must have suffered at Caldwell’s hands. 

Dr. Hansen had said the bruising around the slave’s mouth was probably a result of a blow, but Jim wondered if that had been the case.

“Did Caldwell hurt you?” he asked softly.

The slave looked up. His dark glasses concealed his eyes, but Jim was good at reading facial expressions. 

“He…he was waiting for his sons to arrive before he…he…”

Jim squeezed his shoulder. “It’s all right.” Relieved, he was about to ask if the Prize wanted something to eat when the door opened and Bruce Wayne burst in, closely followed by his Squire.

“Clark!”

Bruce enveloped his Prize in a hug, Dick adding to it. 

Jim realized that Bruce had just revealed his Prize’s name. It was probably a mistake. He had been so anxious…

“Thank you for taking care of Clark for me, Jim.” Bruce looked directly at him.

No mistake.

“My pleasure, Bruce.”

Bruce anxiously studied Clark’s face. “What’s this bruising around your mouth?”

“A well-aimed blow, according to Doc.” Jim squeezed Clark’s hand and released it. “Apparently Edmund was waiting for his sons to join him at the cabin before doing anything further.”

“Thank God.”

Dick had practically attached himself to Clark’s hip.

“Clark gave his statement. I can e-mail you a copy later.”

Bruce nodded. “Thank you, Jim.” He looked right at the older man. “For everything.”

Jim nodded, too, then clapped Clark gently on the shoulder. “Glad you’re back, son.”

Clark said softly, “Thank you, Commissioner.”

Jim smiled and left the family, heading to one of the investigation rooms down the hall.

He entered Room No. 1.

“Ah, Commissioner. About time.”

“Mr. Caldwell.” Jim leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“Well, what about my release?”

“What about it?”

Edmund frowned. “I’ll pay my fine and go.”

“Well, Mr. Caldwell, even a fine in this case requires a hearing.”

“Then I’ll pay bail.”

“I have to wait and find out if Bruce Wayne is going to press charges.”

Edmund laughed. “He won’t do that. It goes against the Code.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “The Code?”

“Yes, the Gentleman’s Code of Honor.” Edmund smirked as he leaned back in his chair. “A gentleman does not press charges against another gentleman for so trifling a reason.”

Jim kept his voice calm. “Perhaps a gentleman does not kidnap another gentleman’s slave.”

Edmund waved his hand airily. “Such things are forgiven. After all, the slut is in one piece.”

Definitely keep a rein on his temper.

“Well, for your sake, you’d better be right. Until we find out Mr. Wayne’ s intentions, you’ll be in holding.”

Jim turned to leave, ignoring Edmund’s sputtering when the door opened.

Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway, cold and beautiful.

“May I speak to Edmund alone for a minute, Commissioner?” 

“Yes, you may, Mr. Wayne.”

He exited the interrogation room, glad that he wasn’t Edmund Caldwell.


	21. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark comes home.

_Safe._

_Warm._

_**Home.**_

  


**"Home"  
Author Unknown   
19th Century C.E.**

“So, Edmund.”

“Hello, Bruce.”

Edmund’s smirk was grating, or at least he hoped so. Irritating Bruce Wayne was an amusing pastime.

Bruce leaned against the door with his arms crossed, his face impassive. Edmund felt confident and relaxed, pleased at the way things were going. He’d had his fun and had a tasty memory to bring away from all this.

Bruce pushed away from the door and rested his fists on the cheap table.

“I’m prosecuting you to the fullest extent of the law.”

Edmund frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just what I said.” Bruce’s eyes were cold. “I’m going to ask for the maximum penalty and make sure you go to trial.”

Edmund scoffed. “Even if you insist upon such a thing, I won’t do any jail time.”

“How do you know? Major larceny such as you committed carries a prison sentence as well as a fine.”

Edmund snorted. “Not for a slut.”

“There’s always a first time.”

As Bruce started to leave, Edmund sneered, “You’re violating the Gentleman’s Agreement.”

Bruce turned back, eyes flashing. _“You_ broke it first, Edmund. A gentleman does not kidnap another gentleman’s slave, especially his bedslave.”

“He’s a slut. Worth nothing!”

“My accountant might disagree with you.” Bruce voice was clipped.

“Bah, he’s still just a whore. No freeman of a certain station has ever gone to prison for stealing a slave. True gentlemen keep it low-key and work things out themselves, they don’t press charge against the other gentleman!”

A humorless smile curved Bruce’s lips. “Hardly low-key now, Edmund. Don’t you think every news service on the planet carried the news of the Prince’s missing slave? Hell, I bet the news made it as far as the Outer Rim.”

Rage boiled up in Edmund. “You’re _not_ a Prince,” he growled.

This time the smile was more genuine. “So you say.” The smile faded. “Hear this, Edmund. If you ever come near my slaves again, if you even just look at them cross-wise, you’ll answer to me.” He loomed over Edmund. “And if you ever kidnap any of them again for your sadistic pleasure, I’ll kill you.” 

He turned and left a seething Edmund.

& & & & & &

Bruce closed and opened his hands, trying to get his heart rate under control. He didn’t want the black thing inside of him to grow: the old, familiar rage he’d suffered since that night in a dirty alley so long ago.

He couldn’t let the rage overtake him and propel him to do something he would regret. He had to keep a cool head, for Clark and for the rest of his family.

He pushed the door of the exam room open.

Clark jumped but he was holding onto Dick’s hand. Dick had turned, positioning himself in front of Clark, but relaxed as he saw Bruce.

“Let’s go home.”

& & & & & &

Alfred was anxiously awaiting them on the portico as Brendan drove the car up the winding driveway, stopping in front of the columned entrance.

“I am so glad to see you,” Alfred said, hugging Clark, who hugged back fiercely. “Come inside now.”

Bruce let Alfred take charge. Dick scurried after his fellow slaves into the house. 

Brendan said, “It’s a great thing that your Prize is back, sir.”

“Yes,” Bruce said softly. He looked at his chauffeur. “I appreciate your concern for Clark.” 

Brendan was startled at the use of Clark’s name, then smiled brilliantly. “Thank you, sir. He’s very special.”

“Very.”

Brendan got back into the limousine and drove it to the garage.

Bruce went inside the mansion, Dinah greeting him in the foyer.

“How are you, Bruce?”

“Fine. You should ask Clark that.”

“Poor thing’s very jittery. Alfred and Dick brought him upstairs.” Dinah squeezed Bruce’s arm. “The Queens will clear out and leave you in peace.”

Bruce smiled. “Nonsense. You and Ollie and Melody and Roy helped get Clark back. The least I owe you is a dinner and a good night’s sleep.”

Dinah smiled. “All right. We’re in the library.”

Bruce nodded and watched her go down the hall, then he tilted his head up and took a deep breath, climbing the stairs.

In his bedroom Alfred was laying out pajamas for Clark. Bruce approved. Clark needed sleep, not lovemaking.

“Will there be patrol tonight, sir?”

Bruce shook his head. “Not Clark’s first night back.”

“Very good, sir.”

Bruce heard the warm approval in his butler’s voice. Alfred never disappointed.

“Where’s Dick?”

“I sent him to get Clark some chicken soup. I daresay he hasn’t had anything to eat since his kidnapping.”

Bruce grimaced. “I don’t think Edmund was much concerned with Clark’s comfort, to be sure.”

“May I ask if you saw Mr. Caldwell at the police station?” asked Alfred as he turned down the bed.

“I did.”

“And…?” Anger was telegraphed from every rigid muscle in his body.

“I told him I’d kill him if he snatched any of you again.”

Alfred finished smoothing out the blanket. “Very good, sir.”

“Where’s Clark?” Bruce hoped he wasn’t being sick in the bathroom.

“Taking a bath to sooth his nerves.” Alfred glanced at the closed door. “I n fact, I had better check to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep.”

“I will.” Bruce squeezed the older man’s shoulder and headed into the bathroom.

The room was pleasantly warm, the air scented with lilac bath oil. 

Clark’s head was resting comfortably against the tub, the special design allowing a bather to relax. He looked perfectly relaxed until Bruce noticed a faint tremor in his lover’s hand.

“Clark…”

Clark’s body jerked and his eyes flew open. “Oh, Bruce.”

“Sorry I startled you.”

“It’s all right.” Clark’s eyes were huge, almost pleading. “Are you going out tonight?”

Bruce shook his head. When he saw Clark’s relief, he knew he had made the right decision. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he said, “The Queens are staying tonight.”

Clark began to rise. “I have to get dressed.”

“No, you’ll have some supper, then go to bed.”

“But…”

“No buts.” Bruce smoothed Clark’s hair. “You need your rest. Dick and Alfred will take care of my guests.” Bruce stood. “Let me help you up.”

Clark came out of the tub like Poseidon rising from the sea, Bruce’s heart pounding. No matter how many times he looked at Clark, he was still struck by his beauty.

He watched the play of soft light on Clark’s bare skin, glistening from the water.

Bruce dried Clark off with a big, fluffy towel and helped him into the pajamas that he received from Alfred.

Out in the bedroom, Bruce helped Clark into bed while Alfred fussed with the covers and Dick arrived with supper. He set the tray over Clark’s lap.

“Stay.”

Dick smiled as he ate a chocolate chip cookie off the plate on Clark’s tray. Bruce rubbed his shoulder and said, “Stay until Clark goes to sleep.”

Dick nodded and sat on the bed and curled his legs up, getting comfortable.

Bruce kissed the top of Clark’s head, then left to join his guests. Alfred said gently, “Call me if you need anything.”

Clark nodded and Alfred left, Dick patting Clark’s leg. “Take your time, Clark. Alfred’s chicken soup is to be savored.”

Clark chuckled slightly. He ate some golden soup with its generous portions of chicken, orzo, and tiny meatballs, its warmth spreading through him, tasting of home, then took a cookie and ate it, relaxing as he chewed.

Dick watched him but his gaze was friendly and non-judgmental. He noted Clark’s scar by his right eye and was glad that Old Man Caldwell hadn’t carved it out. According to Melody, slaves had been mutilated by Caldwell before.

“Dick?”

“Huh?”

“You all right?”

“Sure.” _Just furious at that old…_

“Have another cookie.”

Dick laughed. “Okay.”

“Dick?”

“Mmm?”

“Thank you.”

Dick swallowed and smiled. “You’re welcome, Clark.”

Being there for Clark was easy.

He would never let anyone hurt him again.

& & & & & &

“So Clark’s all right?” Ollie asked.

Bruce nodded. “Some bruises and that scar which I’ll have removed.”

“Scar?”

Bruce gestured. “Under his right eye.”

Ollie and Dinah exchanged a look, then Dinah said, “You’re very fortunate, Bruce. According to Melody, there have been slave mutilations by Edmund before.”

Bruce shifted uneasily. “I suppose he threatened Clark.”

“I’m sure he did,” Ollie said grimly. “If we hadn’t found him…let’s just say Edmund kills his slaves after he does some creative carving.”

Bruce felt sick. “That lead by Melody helped, in addition to Lionel.”

“We should have checked out Edmund more closely when that phony story about him being off-world came out. He hates you with a passion.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

Dinah and Ollie nodded. Their feelings were no doubt of the same nature.

“I want to thank you and Roy for your help.”

“You’re more than welcome, Bruce.” Dinah crossed her legs, Ollie slipping an arm around her shoulders.

“We enjoy serving justice on slugs like Edmund.” Ollie’s tone was light but the seriousness was under his words.

Bruce flexed his left hand. His rage had subsided, but he knew himself well enough to know that it would bubble to the surface again.

For a moment he regretted not patrolling, as it would be the perfect outlet, but he couldn’t leave Clark tonight.

& & & & & &

Clark emerged from the bathroom, Dick pulling down the blanket and quilt. Clark climbed into the bed and Dick pulled u the covers.

“You must be tired,” Clark said softly, settling his head on the pillows.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”

Clark reached out and grasped Dick’s arm. “You’re _such_ a good friend, Dick.”

Dick beamed. “Thanks, Clark.” Impulsively he leaned forward and hugged Clark, who held him tightly and kissed his hair.

When Dick leaned back, he said, “If you need anything, just call Alfred or me.”

“I will.”

Dick noticed how faint Clark’s voice sounded. He wasn’t surprised. The ordeal he’d suffered would have exhausted him. He gently patted Clark’s shoulder.

“You’re safe now.”

Clark nodded, closing his eyes. Dick stayed until he fell asleep, then left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

A few minutes later, Clark curled up on his side, shaking slightly.


	22. Night's Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories are brought out by Clark’s screams in the night.

_Memories  
Bubble up  
Like hot springs._

_Fear  
Bubbles up  
Like cold ice._

  


**Sarah Selkind  
"Lurking In The Night"   
2013 C.E.**

_Clark struggled against his bonds, terror welling up in him as he heard laughter in the next room._

_“We’ll have fun with this one, eh, boys?” Edmund’s voice was gleeful._

_“Can he take two of us at once?” asked Harrison._

_“He’s got a whore’s mouth like I’ve never seen.”_

_“What about his ass?” asked Halliburton._

_“Sweet.”_

_Howls of laughter swept over Clark, who couldn’t stop shaking. He desperately tried to snap his bonds, yelling silently for Bruce, terror flashing through his body._

_**Please don’t! Please don’t come into this room!** _

_Suddenly, Edmund was looming over him, knife glinting as his loathsome sons put their hands all over his body, Edmund pressing the knife to Clark’s skin under his eye…_

_“Such a pretty eye,” he crooned, and pushed as pain blossomed…_

& & & & & &

 _“My eye!”_

Clark held his face as he bolted upright in bed, shaking violently, his screams echoing around the room.

Bruce grabbed his shoulders. “It’s all right, it’s all right, your eye is fine, you’re whole, I swear!”

Tears streamed from Clark’s face as he moaned, desperately holding on to Bruce as Bruce’s arms were banded tightly around him.

“Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!” he pleaded.

Bruce stroked his hair and back, tears in his own eyes. “Never, never leave you, love. It’s okay; it’s okay. I’ll _never_ let you be hurt again.”

Clark sobbed, overwhelmed by the nightmare and his relief.

The door opened. Alfred asked softly, “Master Bruce?”

“It’s all right, Alfred.” Bruce saw a worried Dick right behind the butler. “Clark’s all right now.”

“Very well, sir.”

Alfred’s voice held a skein of skepticism but he did not inquire further. He ushered Dick out.

Bruce rocked back-and-forth, trying to calm his shaking lover.

Finally Clark stopped crying and pulled away from Bruce.

“I’m…I’m sorry.”

“No need.” Bruce smoothed Clark’s hair back and handed him a tissue. You went through hell.”

“Not like…like other Caldwell slaves.” Clark touched his eye with a trembling hand.

“Thank God!” Bruce kissed the top of his head. He eased Clark down. “I’m right here, Clark. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you, thank you.”

Bruce curled up beside Clark, pulling the covers up over the two of them.

& & & & & &

Dinah opened the door of Melody’s room.

Her heart sank.

Melody’s knees were drawn up, her head resting on her crossed arms over her knees as she rocked back-and-forth.

“Melody, dearest,” Dinah said softly.

Melody continued rocking. Dinah went to the bed and sat down, rubbing the little girl’s back.

“Bad memories, sweet?”

“Y…Yes,” Melody breathed. “ She lifted up her head, eyes glistening with tears. “It reminds me of some nights at Oakwood. The screams…slaves waking up screaming…some without…” She shuddered.

Dinah felt sick to her stomach. “You’re safe now, Precious. Edmund Caldwell will never hurt you again.”

“But, Mistress, that’s not so for the slaves still owned by him.”

Troubled, Dinah drew Melody into an embrace.

& & & & & &

Dick quietly withdrew from the doorway. When Clark had screamed, he had jumped out of bed and gone to the master bedroom right behind Alfred. Bruce was taking care of things, but Dick had still been shaken. Walking back to his room, he had nodded to Dinah as she passed him.

She had gone into Melody’s room and Dick had paused by the doorway, horror welling up in him as he heard Melody’s words.

Back in his room he sat on the bed and drew his knees up, gazing out the window of his room at the stars.

A soft knock on the door brought his head around. “Come in.”

Roy slipped inside, closing the door behind him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Dick patted the bed in invitation. Roy climbed up. “I’m not the one with nightmares.”

“Yeah, but it can rattle any of us.” Roy crossed his legs. “We’re getting an idea of life under the Caldwells from Melody.”

Dick shivered. “ I can’t imagine living like that, Roy.”

“I know. Even Old Man Broward only beat me a couple of times at the brothel. He coulda done worse.”

Dick’s eyes were sad as he regarded Roy but said nothing.

“How did Pop Haly treat you?”

“Real good.” Dick rested his elbows on his crossed knees. “He didn’t treat us like slaves all the time. We were performers and were expected to practice and be the best showmen we could be.”

“Did he ever whip anyone?”

“A few times, but the slave was really mouthy. He couldn’t keep quiet. Pop just couldn’t let it go.”

Roy nodded. “I guess a Master can’t tolerate an insubordinate slave.”

“No.” 

Roy straightened his back. “Was it bad?”

“What?”

“The whippings?”

“Oh, no, they weren’t bad. Nothing like Clark suffered under Old Man Caldwell.”

Roy sneered, “Caldwell’s a psycho. I’ve seen Masters who like to inflict pain once in awhile, but the real sadists are like Caldwell. It’s a miracle that Clark wasn’t hurt badly.”

“He would have been if we hadn’t found him.”

“Yeah.” Roy leaned forward, chin in hand. “He must’ve been scared to death.”

“I’m sure he was.” Dick remembered Clark’s shaking when they’d found him. “He’s…fragile, Roy. »

Roy nodded slowly. “I know. We’ll protect him.”

Dick smiled at Roy’s use of the word ‘we’. “Yes, we will.”

& & & & & &

“Is Mia all right?”

Dinah closed the door and shed her robe. “As right as a former Caldwell slave can ever be.” She slipped into bed and curled up against Ollie, who slid his arm around her. “Clark’s terror brought back bad memories.”

Ollie starred at the ceiling. “I’d love to rip Edmund’s throat out.”

“I’ll be right behind you in line.”

Ollie snorted. “Maybe I should let you go first and take care of the leftovers.”

“My pleasure.”

Ollie shivered. That tone of Dinah’s voice almost made him feel sorry for Edmund.

Almost.


	23. Jangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark is back home at Wayne Manor…but is he safe?

_Pain  
Takes a second.  
Healing  
Takes a lifetime._

  


**Jax Mantell  
"Blood Ruby"   
2242 C.E.**

Clark awoke, immediately reaching for Bruce.

Panic rose up in him as he encountered emptiness. Where was Bruce? He clambered out of bed and went into the bathroom.

Empty.

Nervously he reached for his robe and jumped when the door opened.

“Ah, good to see you up, Clark. Will you be joining us for breakfast downstairs?”

“Alfred! You startled me. N…No, I don’t think I’m up to it. I’m not feeling so well.”

“Oh, dear. Then get back into bed. Would you like me to bring up a tray? Tea and toast?”

“Yes, thank you.” As Alfred turned to go, Clark took a step forward. “Is Bruce still here?”

“Yes. He’ll be going into town to see his guests off and work at the office.”

“Will he…be coming up?”

Alfred smiled gently. “I’ll make sure he does.” 

“Thank you.”

Alfred left and Clark paced nervously.

He hated lying to his friend.

& & & & & &

Alfred came into the kitchen.

“How’s Clark, Alfred?” Bruce asked quietly under the hubbub of conversation. “Is he awake?”

“He is rather unwell, sir.”

Concern deepened in Bruce’s eyes. “Damn. Well, at least he wasn’t ill when Caldwell had him. We’ll take care of him.”

“Most assuredly, sir. I am taking up a tray of tea and toast.”

“Very good, Alfred.”

“Oh, and sir?”

“Yes?”

“He would like to see you before you go.”

“Of course.”

The jovial breakfast continued, Bruce joining in as one part of his mind worried about Clark.

As breakfast ended and everyone prepared to leave, Bruce said, “I’ll be right back. I just have to check on Clark.”

“Good idea,” Dinah approved.

Bruce went upstairs, his heart saddened at the sight of Clark curled up in bed. He quietly approached the bed and Clark opened his eyes.

“Bruce.”

Bruce heard the relief in Clark’s voice. He sat on the bed and brushed the hair back from his lover’s eyes. “Alfred said you’re not feeling well.”

Clark closed his eyes. “Not very.”

“Stay in bed. Dick can help Alfred today.”

“Are you coming back after seeing the Queens off?”

“I have work to do in town.” At Clark’s disappointed look he felt guilty, cupping his companion’s face. “I’ll try to get back early.”

“Okay.”

“Sleep well.”

Bruce kissed Clark’s forehead, leaving the room with a heavy heart.

Clark shivered under the blankets and quilt.

& & & & & &

Bruce finished up his tasks as quickly as possible in his office at Wayne Enterprises. Lucius came in and gave him a rundown on the stare of the company, then asked, “How’s your Prize?”

Bruce sighed. “All right, considering.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Was he hurt…in any way?”

“Edmund put a scar beneath his eye and threatened him, but nothing further than a few bruises.”

“Good.” Lucius leaned back. “We’ve had inquiries.”

“I’m sure you can handle the media.”

“Lois Lane seemed rather concerned.”

“That’s nice of her.” Bruce rubbed his eyes. “I’ll have to get back to some of the people who left messages for me while my Prize was missing.”

“People?”

“Martha Kent, Lana Lang, others.”

“You’re very lucky to get your Prize back.”

“Very.” Bruce flipped a letter opener up-and-down. “He was brutalized by Caldwell.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Bruce sighed. “I can’t tell you how relieved I was that he was in good shape when he was found.”

“Not missing anything?”

Bruce shuddered. “No.”

Lucius looked closely at Bruce. “Are you still going to charge Edmund?”

“Yes.”

Lucius’ eyebrow raised. “So you’re going against the Code?”

“Yes.” Bruce cocked his head. “Do you disapprove?”

“Hardly.” Lucius folded his hands. “Men like Edmund Caldwell are a danger to society. Their sadism pollutes every decent thing, not to mention the slaves unfortunate to be in their hands.”

“But you have reservations?”

“Only for the company, Bruce.”

Bruce tapped the letter opener on the desk. “Stock?”

“It might drop. Depends on if people see this as a disturbing trend on your part.”

It was Bruce’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Disturbing?”

Lucius nodded. “Toward Abolitionism.”

“But I’ve already spoken out for more humane treatment of slaves and intend to continue to do so.”

“I figured as much.” Lucius smiled. “The company’s stock has gone down since you began speaking out, but not at plummeting level. Some people consider it socially responsible like the green movement.”

“So Wayne Enterprises has another layer of social responsibility?” Amusement laced Bruce’s voice.

“Yes, in addition to our green responsibility. But there’s always the reverse.”

Bruce nodded. “Those who disapprove of my stand.”

“Which will increase if you charge Edmund Caldwell and require a trial instead of a fine.”

“He won’t do a day of jail time, unfortunately.”

“But the fact that you had the audacity to put him at risk for a prison sentence means you’ve definitely broken your Gentlemen’s Code.”

Bruce’s hand tightened around the ivory handle of the letter opener. “Gentlemen don’t kidnap other gentlemen’s slaves.”

“Yes, but a lot of your shareholders won’t see it that way.”

“Maybe so, but I can’t do anything differently, Lucius. I just can’t.”

Lucius nodded. “I understand, Bruce.”

Bruce smiled. “I’m extremely fortunate to have you as my CEO, Lucius.”

“I’d say you’re right.”

Bruce laughed as Lucius smiled.

& & & & & &

Bruce arrived home and after greeting Alfred and Dick, immediately went upstairs.

Clark was sleeping but awoke as soon as Bruce entered the room.

“You’re back!”

“That I am.”

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you?” He touched Clark’s forehead.

“Okay, but better now that you’re here.”

Bruce smiled. “Good. Will you be able to come down to dinner?”

“I…I don’t think so.”

“I’ll have Alfred send up a tray. I’ll come back to see you before patrol.”

“Patrol? You’re going out tonight?”

“Of course.” Bruce kissed Clark’s forehead and began to rise.

Clark grabbed his arm. “Can you…can you stay a little while?”

“Certainly.” Bruce sat down again. “Your eyes look clear. No fever?”

“No.”

“Good.”

They chatted for awhile, and when Bruce left for patrol, Clark watched him go with troubled eyes.


	24. Black Velvet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A troubled Clark waits for Bruce and Dick to return from patrol.

_The mind  
Is wrapped  
In black velvet,  
Blotting out  
The sun,  
The moon,  
And the stars._

  


**Sapphire Stagg  
"Black Velvet"   
2206 C.E.**

Clark stared up at the ceiling, watching the pattern of moonlight shift as the wind blew. He clutched the blankets and quilt, shivering as he waited for Bruce to return.

He was afraid to sleep.

He heard the grandfather clock chime once. Bruce should be home soon. Dick, too.

He threw off the blankets and paced the room, shivering in his pajamas.

He was a liar.

He’d lied to everyone about being sick. He just couldn’t face…

Clark pulled the drapes back and watched the play of moonlight on the water.

There was more he’d lied about.

_Maybe Caldwell’s right. Maybe I **am** a no-good slut._

Bruce and Dick were out there, doing their jobs, while he cowered here.

_“Even if your so-called Prince rescued you, whore, he would never look at you the same way again. My seed is in you. He’ll never stand for that!”_

Clark winced. He let the drapes fall, cutting off the view.

The screaming started, and he pressed his hands to his ears to block it out.

Except that he couldn’t…

He fell to his knees.

& & & & & &

The night was clear, moonlight shimmering down in Gotham. Batman and Robin flew over the rooftops, capes fluttering as they kept vigil.

As they paused on a rooftop, Robin asked, “Batman?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you sure Clark’s okay?”

“He’s not. He’s having one of his spells.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Robin settled on a parapet “…is his illness just the usual, or a reaction to getting kidnapped?”

“Probably both.”

Robin nodded, but Batman felt uneasy.

They continued patrol, but it was a quiet night. Batman was happy to conclude patrol and get back to the Manor.

He and Dick quickly showered and dressed in fluffy robes, stopping by the kitchen for cookies and milk. The house was quiet, a good sign.

After the snack, Bruce followed Dick upstairs.

“Good night, Bruce.”

Bruce ruffled his hair. “Good night, Dick.”

The boy flashed a smile and went into his room, closing the door behind him.

Quietly, Bruce entered his bedroom.

Clark was sleeping. Relieved, Bruce disrobed and pulled on pajama bottoms, disappearing into the bathroom. When he emerged, Clark was still asleep.

Bruce crawled into bed, pulling the covers over him. Clark mumbled and moved close, Bruce pulling him in. Sighing softly, he settled comfortably, falling asleep in minutes…

As soon as Bruce was asleep, Clark opened his eyes.

He didn’t shut them again until Bruce awoke later that morning.


	25. Paradise Bitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve dreams of Diana while she waits in Paradise.

_Bitter is the fruit  
Of our bondage,  
Bitter is the time  
Spent  
In a chained  
Paradise._

  


**Demetria  
"Chronicles Of   
The Bondage Times"   
2200 C.E.**

Steve coughed, his throat rattling like broken glass. Groaning, he tried to find the drinking glass on the bedside table.

“I got it.”

Hal poured water from the pitcher and helped Steve drink.

“Thanks,” Steve croaked.

“Always happy to help.” Hal wheeled his chair closer. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a two-ton semi rolled over me…twice.”

Hal laughed. “Well, the docs said it’s going to take quite awhile for you to get your strength back.”

“Great.” Steve sighed.

“It’s okay to be grumpy.”

“Don’t make me laugh. It hurts!”

Hal grinned. “You must be getting better if you’re making wisecracks.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m peachy.” Steve sighed. “At least we’re home.”

“Contagion-free,” Hal said cheerfully.

“Good.” Steve looked at him blearily. “How are you?”

“Starting to get feeling back.” Hal thumped his leg.

“That’s great, Hal!” Steve immediately perked up.

Hal leaned back in his wheelchair. “We’re both going to make it back, Stevie.”

Steve nodded, a smile on his lips.

& & & & & &

 _“Beloved, you are what my heart needs.”_

_Diana kissed him, her limbs entwining around his. Steve slipped his hand through her hair, tasting her sweet lips as her body pressed against his. His arousal grew and Diana spread her legs, welcoming him deep within her, heat tingling along his nerves. She threw her head back, purring like an aroused cat._

_He felt happy as he joined with her, feeling complete…_

_“C’mon, whore, time to service the latest ship.”_

_The burly serviceman grabbed Diana by the hair and pulled her off the bed, kicking her in the ribs. She cried out in pain._

_“Angel!”_

_Steve reached out for her, but he was frozen to the bed. He watched in horror as the bully lifted her up by the hair and kissed her roughly, squeezing her breast, then threw her out of the room._

_“We’ve got a long line waiting for you, **Princess,”** the bully said, sneering on the last word._

_Diana looked back as she was shoved, her eyes sad._

_Steve called out her name desperately…_

& & & & & &

Steve shot up in bed, his heart racing. He looked around wildly, but he was no longer in Paradise. He was back in his own room at home.

“Hey,” Hal said concernedly as he wheeled in. “What’s up, buddy?”

“Just…just a nightmare.” Steve lay back down, his heart still beating too fast.

“Yeah.” Hal wheeled over to the bed.

Steve rubbed his eyes.

“Who’s Diana?”

Steve froze. “It was just a dream.”

“It wasn’t the first nightmare you’ve had about her.”

Steve sighed. He looked at his lover.

“You met her in Paradise, didn’t you?”

Steve nodded. 

“She was special.”

“She was. Is.”

“You haven’t said much about your time there.”

Steve shrugged. “Not much to say. I was recovering from the plane crash. Kinda out of it most of the time.”

“They’re said to be amazingly beautiful.”

“The Amazons? Yeah.”

“They don’t have any choice.”

“None.”

They weren’t talking about beauty.

Hal leaned forward. “What are you thinking?” 

“I wish that I could take her away from a life of degradation. And all the rest of her sisters, too.” Steve sighed. “Even if I could, if they were caught…”

“They’re Warriors, aren’t they?”

“Sure, but their skills are rusty. Besides, the Govs keep them drugged. Just enough awareness for them to service their customers.”

Steve was almost shocked by how bitter he sounded. Hal leaned forward.

“You and I have a lot of rehabbing to do. Let’s see how much planning for Paradise we can do.”

Steve’s eyes lit up and he smiled.

& & & & & &

Diana swam gracefully in the pool at the base of the waterfall. It was part of her daily exercise routine. After all, out-of-shape whores just wouldn’t do.

She closed her eyes as she swam. She disliked the bitterness, but her life and those of her mother and sisters was bitterness in Paradise.

Paradise.

Her lip nearly curled at the word.

_A cruel jest from the Gods._

What about their Goddesses? Athena, Aphrodite, Hera?

Why did they abandon their loyal worshippers?

She sighed. It was unproductive to rage. Besides, it never lasted long.

As she exited the pool, nude body glistening, she couldn’t remember when the world was clear. She was more accustomed to fuzziness, haziness, a rounding of edges and a softening of sharpness. 

She didn’t like mellow when it was forced upon her.

As she dried off and dressed in her chiton, she wondered if her restlessness was because of Steve.

She had known many men, of course, but she hadn’t cared about any of them. Whores didn’t care about heir customers.

Steve wasn’t a customer.

He was someone she cared about…deeply.

She loved him.

She knew it, deep in her heart, deep in her soul.

She had not told her mother, who despite her drug-induced haze, had no love for men. Her hatred burned beneath that haze. And why not? Twice in her long life men had enslaved her and her sisters and used them as whores. 

Diana had missed the first Bondage Times.

How had they endured it?

Of course they had survived, as they would this time. They were Amazons.

A flash of anger penetrated her haze as she curled her fingers into a fist. How long would the Goddesses force them to suffer this misery? 

She wanted to smash her fist into a rock, but it was useless. With her bracelets chained together by men, she would just break her hand.

It would not get her out of bedroom duty.

She walked toward the Palace, her mind drifting. Rebellion had come to Paradise decades ago, perhaps a century or more, but had been thwarted.

The punishment had been horrific.

No, telling her mother that she had fallen in love with a man would be folly at best.

Diana lifted her face to the sun, its rays warming her skin. She had felt a connection with Steve Trevor from the first moment she had laid eyes upon him. When he had opened his eyes, she had _known._

She had kept her feelings to herself at first. She could have well been wrong, but happily, had not been.

It was Destiny to meet this man.

He was a gift from the Goddesses, his hair the color of the sun, his beauty rivaling that of Apollo. It could not be happenstance, of that she was certain.

He had promised that he would return to her someday.

She had no doubt that he would.


	26. Veneer, Crack'd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark sinks further into Darkness.

_Outside,  
I smile._

_Inside,  
I cry._

  


**Alicia Cook  
"Tear-Streaked"   
2172 C.E.**

“Dick!” 

Dick quickly stepped into the master bedroom. “Yes, Clark?” 

“Can you sit with me a minute?”

“Sure!” Dick climbed up on the bed and crossed his legs. “Do you need anything?”

“Just you.”

Dick beamed. “It’s nice and toasty in here. Pretty nasty outside.”

“Not surprising for February.”

“No.” Dick smiled. “Though they say that we’ll get spring-like weather later this week.”

“Good.” Clark smiled slightly. “Maybe we’ll see our resident Robins.”

Dick’s eyes sparkled. “They do herald spring.”

“So they do,” Clark said affectionately.

“I’m so glad you’re safe and sound and back with us, Clark.”

Clark hugged Dick tightly, pain in his eyes.

After Dick had drawn back, he started to get up but Clark grabbed his arm. “Please stay.”

“Alfred is expecting me…but I can stay for a few more minutes.” 

“Thank you.” Clark kept his hand on Dick’s warm arm, the crackle of the hearth fire loud in the room. “How’s patrol been?”

“Pretty quiet, actually. The Joker’s in Arkham and the Penguin and Riddler are quiet. Catwoman hasn’t been seen in months.”

“Maybe she left Gotham.”

“Could be. Not all the loonies stay here forever.”

“Mmm.”

“I’m sorry. You must be tired.”

“Not that bad. I…”

“Dick, why aren’t you downstairs?” Alfred appeared in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, Alfred.”

“It was my fault, Alfred. I wanted some company.”

“Ah, well, you should rest, Clark, and the latest laundry batch is done, Dick. Please unload it and put in the next one.”

“Right away.”

Clark let Dick go, but not before Dick saw the fear in his eyes. He took Clark’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ll stop in later today when I’m finished with my chores.” 

“All right.”

Dick left the room, worry creeping along his mind.

& & & & & &

“Do you want some tea?” Alfred asked Clark.

“Thanks, Alfred, but I think I’ll just sleep.”

“That’s probably for the best.” Alfred pulled up the covers. “Sleep well, Clark.”

After Alfred had left, Clark squeezed his eyes shut, his hands trembling as he clutched the blanket.

& & & & & &

When Bruce came home he found Dick in the bedroom, entertaining Clark with tales of Dynamic Duo derring-do. Bruce smiled at the cozy domestic picture. He was so grateful that Clark was back with them safe and sound.

Bruce leaned over and kissed Clark, ruffling Dick’s hair.

“How are you, love?”

“Not as good as I could be, but fine.”

Bruce laughed. “That’s quite a description.” He smoothed Clark’s bangs back. “Did you eat today?”

“Some toast and tea.”

“That’s good.” He turned to Dick. “I need you to do a little research for me before we go out. The folder’s by the computer.”

Dick nodded. “Check.” He grinned at Clark and hopped off the bed, heading for the Batcave.

“He’s a good kid,” Clark said softly.

“The best.” Bruce rubbed Clark’s chest, hoping to impart comfort. “I’m glad you’re getting rest.”

“I should be doing that research.” Guilt laced Clark’s tone.

“You will once you’re better.” Bruce stood and went into the bathroom to shower.

Misery haunted Clark’s eyes.

& & & & & &

Dick clicked away on the computer keys, looking up the information that Bruce needed.

He accessed _The Gotham Gazette’s_ archives, finding the article he needed, printing it out. He placed the pages next to the computer.

He looked over the website, noting various headlines, his eyes widening as he saw **‘COURT DATE SET IN CALDWELL GRAND LARCENY CASE’.**

His lip curled. Of course Clark’s case would not be labeled a kidnapping. That was for freemen. Slaves were property; therefore they were stolen, not kidnapped.

Anger roiled through Dick, his hand curling into a fist. He _hated_ the idea of Clark considered no better than a piece of furniture, and all that he had suffered in that evil Edmund Caldwell’s clutches…and Melody and all the other Caldwell slaves.

Dick closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _Let it all out. Don’t keep the rage bottled up._ It did no good to rail against fate or conditions.

Dick sighed as he let his breath out slowly, letting all his frustration out. His parents had taught him this technique, firm believers in meeting life with as much joy as possible while keeping the darkness in mind.

Dick clicked on the link and story. It was a pretty dry recounting of the case and the court date. Nothing much of interest, except for the fact that Bruce was in favor of a full-press prosecution.

Bruce was special, someone worthy of loyalty beyond holding the ownership papers. As Dick clicked further, he thought of the compassion shown him by Bruce, their shared pain giving them a mutual bond that had cemented their relationship from the beginning.

Dick never had felt more alive than when he was Robin, fighting by Batman’s side. The only other comparable experience was the act he had performed with his parents: the sense of freedom, the joy of flying, freedom with a purpose.

Just like being Robin.

Happy again, Dick finished up his perusal of the Gotham City website and then hopped out of his chair, running back upstairs.

& & & & & &

Patrol went well, Robin especially energetic tonight. He knocked into a would-be mugger with joyful abandon, Batman not even lifting a glove.

“Good work,” said the Dark Knight, and the Boy Wonder beamed.

As they perched on a rooftop, watching a seamy section of town, Batman asked, “How was Clark?”

“Under-the-weather.” Robin bit his lip. “He’s still a little jittery.”

“Not surprising, considering his ordeal.”

Robin nodded, still uneasy.

& & & & & &

Clark paced up and down the carpet, clad in a warm, fluffy robe. He was shivering despite the thick robe and pajamas.

He looked out at the moonlight shimmering on the water, trying to calm down. Sleep was not an option. The screaming…

Clark squeezed his eyes shut, clamping his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the desperation, the pleading, the _screaming…_

He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face.


	27. The Sun Is Warm Upon My Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first wave of spring comes to Wayne Manor.

_The sun is warm  
Upon my face,  
And yet,  
I am cold  
Inside._

  


**Sarah Selkind  
"Lurking In The Night"   
2013 C.E.**

“Dick.”

Dick stopped as he heard his name called, turning to see Clark standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

“Clark! Are you better? Can you come down to the garden?”

Clark shook his head. He was looking pale and tired. “I just want…want to say hello.”

Dick smiled despite his worry. “Sure.” He didn’t mind Clark’s almost-clinging attitude. He knew that Clark had suffered, and the fall-out was difficult to deal with for his friend. He would be as patient as necessary.

“So, you and Alfred working out in the garden?”

Dick nodded. “Today’s early March weather is really warm. Alfred said we should do some spring clean-up.”

“That’s good.”

“Would you like some tea? Some gingerbread? Alfred just baked a fresh batch.”

“I can smell it.” Clark smiled slightly. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll be right back!”

Dick dashed downstairs, Alfred on his way out to the garden.

“I’m getting some tea and gingerbread for Clark.”

“Good to see him with an appetite. He refused breakfast this morning.”

Alfred continued on outside, Dick quickly brewing a cup of tea and cutting a generous piece of gingerbread. He hurried back upstairs.

Clark was resting against the pillows, blankets pulled up to his waist. Dick noticed him shivering slightly despite wearing thick cotton pajamas and his robe. He put the tray on Clark’s lap and pulled up the quilt, tucking it around his friend.

“You take such good care of me,” Clark said softly.

“Of course. It’s easy to take care of you. You’re one of the best people I know.”

Clark blushed, reaching for the teacup. His hand shook so badly that he drew it back.

Dick noticed but said nothing. Why embarrass his friend?

“I’ll come up and get the tray when I’m done helping Alfred with the garden.” 

“Thank you.”

Dick gave Clark’s arm a squeeze and smiled, heading downstairs.

& & & & & &

The sea breeze ruffled Dick’s hair. He dug his gloved hands into the earth, ripping up stray plants and loosening the soil. Alfred shaded his eyes as he looked up at the sun.

“Good to do this now. If it gets any warmer, that ground will be mud.”

Dick nodded as he worked, Alfred holding a rake to clean up leaves. The butler looked shrewdly at the subdued boy.

“What is disturbing you, Dick?”

Dick looked up, momentarily surprised, then he smiled. _Of course_ Alfred would know something was up. Heck, even _Bruce_ couldn’t hide his feelings from him.

He sobered as he looked up at his friend. “I don’t think that Clark’s really sick.”

& & & & & &

Bruce sighed, rubbing his eyes as he sat behind his desk at Wayne Enterprises. Clark’s bad spell this time was lasting extraordinarily long. Granted, he had suffered a tremendous trauma. Bruce couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like to feel completely helpless in Edmund’s clutches.

Still, he worried about how sick Clark was now. Was he taking a downturn, as some Wertham’s Disease sufferers did? Maybe it was time to call Dr. Allston.

& & & & & &

Clark watched Dick and Alfred working in the garden, the sun warm on his face as it streamed through the bedroom window. How he yearned to be with them, to enjoy the first wave of spring!

His heart trembled at the thought of leaving the room, this safety, this sanctuary…and yet he was also afraid, so very afraid of the two of them out there, alone, unprotected…

His hand holding the drape trembled.

_“That circus trash of his will grow up to be something lovely.”_

Clark felt nauseous, dizziness overtaking him.

The winter sunlight sparkled on his rainbow bracelets.


	28. The Kryptonian Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people in Washington, D.C., are working hard on the Kryptonian Question.

_"The Kryptonian Question continues, but so does the Hunt."_

  


**General Elias Stark  
U.S. Army   
22—C.E.**

Elias Stark pored over the reports stacked on his desk. Paperwork , whether as print-outs or on-line, never ended. Sighing, he started to read another report when the door of his office opened and his aide-de-camp, Joshua Speed, walked in.

“Good morning, General.”

“Good morning, Lieutenant. What have you got for me today on the Kryptonian Question?”

“We’re still waiting word from our agent in Sector 216.”

“What about the whereabouts of Van-Zee?”

“Gone completely underground. However, rumor has it that he’s preaching assimilation instead of resistance now.”

Stark snorted. “I doubt the Rebels will accept that.”

“The Rebels are widely scattered, sir, and are completely disorganized. They have never been a ‘movement’, per se. Just about every Kryptonian is anti-slavery. They’re just trying to survive under a Hunt Decree.”

“Yes, well, their numbers are dwindling. As they should be.”

Joshua nodded. “Fortunately most of the populace was on Krypton during the Great Destruction, but a substantial amount of the citizenry were off-world at the time.”

“We’ll get them.”

Joshua looked across the Potomac at the tall spire of the Washington Monument and the impressive Lincoln Memorial. “Yes, sir.”

Joshua left the office and met Ron McBride in the hall. “Hey, Ron, how’s it going?”

“Pretty well, and you?”

“Still on the Hunt.”

“Mmm, the KQ never ends, eh?”

“What about you? Still trying mind control over termination?”

Ron laughed. “Do you think we have mad scientists whipping up recipes in the lab?”

Joshua grinned, running a hand through glossy dark hair. It was far shorter than he liked, but that was military regulation for you. Violet eyes looked inquisitively at Ron, a slender man, who leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. The scientist said, “Though we are considering Lex Luthor for our Committee.”

“A mad scientist, indeed.”

Ron grinned. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to control power rather than eradicate it?”

Joshua sniffed. “Too risky. Power such as the Kryptonians could wield could backfire on those holding the leash.”

“Maybe, but what if Kryptonians could be conditioned to accept their slavery?”

“What kind of drugs are you cooking up?”

Ron grinned, brown eyes sparkling. “All classified, my friend, but someday we’ll prove our point.”

“Good luck, though with our Hunt so successful, there may be no Kryptonians left to experiment on.”

“True, but sentient beings fight very hard to keep on going. It’s difficult to exterminate an entire race. Certainly the planet blowing up helped, and the Decree wasn’t placed on the Kryptonians until they were too weak and scattered as a result of the Great Destruction.”

“Good luck, though with our Hunt so successful, there may be no Kryptonians left to experiment on. Their crime was subversion.”

“True.” Ron looked grim. “Opposing slavery in itself is no crime, but working in secret to overthrow the institution is.”

“They should have formed Abo Societies as they’ve done on Earth.”

Ron cocked his head. “You’re descended from Joshua Speed, Abraham Lincoln’s best friend?”

Joshua nodded. “He was Honest Abe’s roommate in Illinois when he and Lincoln were storekeepers. Hell, they even shared the same bed. Lincoln became a strong voice for the Union, of course, and eventually Abolition. My ancestor was from Kentucky and his family were slaveowners. Eventually he and Lincoln drifted apart, but not completely.”

“So he wasn’t an advocate of Abolition?”

“Probably not.” Joshua smiled. “Moot point, anyway.”

“True.”

“Is your Committee considering lifting the Decrees still on the books?”

“Ah, that’s the regular Committee. As far as I know, no Decrees are being removed.”

“The Roma seem harmless enough.”

“Some people just can’t let go of a grudge.”

“I guess so.” Joshua’s cellphone rang. « I’ve got to take this. »

“Sure, see you around.”

& & & & & &

Elias answered his phone. “Edmund! Great to hear from you! How’s it going?” He frowned. “What? I knew you were caught slave-stealing, but didn’t you just pay a fine?” Elias’ pale eyes widened. “What the hell did Wayne do? You’re kiddin’ me!” Elias leaned forward, intensely listening to every word. “He’s got his nerve! You’re fighting this, of course.” Satisfied at the answer, Elias said, “Don’t worry, Edmund. I’ll talk to him.”

After Elias hung up he shook his head.

What the hell was Bruce Wayne thinking? Prosecuting a man for stealing a slut? Absurd!

What was this world coming to?


	29. Shredded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Allston recommends counseling for Clark.

_My feelings are…  
Without value,  
In a world that  
Despises me._

  


**Unknown Slave  
2112 C.E.**

“He’s not sick.”

Bruce frowned at Harold Allston. “What are you talking about? My Prize is suffering from an extremely heavy dose of the disease.”

“He’s not.”

Bruce came out from behind his desk in the study. “I don’t understand.”

Harold put his medical bag down on the desk. “Your Prize is ill, but not from his disease. I’m up on the news, Bruce. I know that he was kidnapped by Edmund Caldwell. I can only imagine what he went through.”

“The police physician examined him and said he was all right.”

“Hmm, yes, I read that report. I’m not sure that was the correct diagnosis.”

“How was he hurt?”

“Psychologically, he’s been damaged. He needs counseling to get him through this ordeal.”

“Counseling?”

Harold nodded. “He’s jittery, plagued by nightmares, you said, and think: has he left your room since coming home?”

Bruce’s eyes widened a little. “He hasn’t.”

“He’s afraid.” Harold rested a hand on his bag. “A touch of agoraphobia, but more like unable to leave the security of that room.”

“So you think counseling would help?”

“Yes.” Harold fished a card out of his wallet and handed it to Bruce. “She’s an excellent psychiatrist, specializing in slave psychology. She’s very sympathetic to slaves.”

Bruce looked at the card. “All right, I’ll call her.”

& & & & & &

“I’m here to help you, _K’Shaya.”_

The Prize was sitting in a rocking chair by the window, his hands clutching a tissue on his lap. He was dressed in a cobalt-blue robe and light-blue silk pajamas. Bruce Wayne clothed his slaves well. Hayley saw no evidence of mistreatment except for that laid upon him by his kidnapper.

 _“K’Shaya_ is a pretty word.”

Hayley nodded. “It’s Vulcan for ‘Treasured One’.”

“How am I treasured?”

“Your Master treasures you. Besides, I need to call you something besides ‘Prize’.”

The Prize blushed slightly. “Yes, he does.”

“Good.” Hayley crossed her legs, settling her datapad in her lap. “Do you resent this counseling?”

“I don’t need it.”

Hayley picked up her stylus, tapping her knee. She wore a wine-red skirt and jacket, black shirt with a scalloped neckline, and black nylons and shoes. Her honey-gold hair was pulled back into a ponytail, red tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose as she sat in a twin rocking chair.

“Your Master wishes it.” She noticed a tightening of his hands. “Do you resent your Master?” The Prize began to shred the tissue. “You can be assured, _K’Shaya,_ that this will remain confidential between us.”

“I thought you had to tell my Master.”

“Yes, but I reserve the right to keep thing just between us, and I’ll tell you when I intend to do so.” At the bedslave’s hesitation, she smiled gently. “I know you have no reason to trust a freeman, but I don’t betray my patients.”

She observed her patient closely while pretending to be relaxed. She needed this slave to trust her if she was going to help him.

The man relaxed a little. “I…I sometimes resent that he’s free and I’m not.” Guilt laced his voice.

Hayley wished she could see his eyes, but of course it was forbidden.

“It’s all right to feel that way.”

“It isn’t! Br…my Master has been incredibly good to me.”

“But he still owns you.”

“Yes.” The Prize shifted in his chair. “But he treats me very well. Better than I expected or deserve.”

“Why do you say that?” Hayley asked as her stylus glided over her datapad.

“What?” The Prize was clearly confused.

“Good treatment is more than you deserve.”

“I’m a slave. I don’t deserve wonderful treatment.”

Hayley heard the trace of bitterness in his voice. “Perhaps that’s what people think, but do _you_ truly believe it?”

“Sometimes.”

The soft _creak-creak-creak_ of the Prize’s rocking chair filled the silent room.

“Have those feelings grown stronger since your kidnapping?”

The Prize frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Kidnapping a slave is legally stealing, _not_ kidnapping.”

“I know.”

“A heinous act is reduced to petty thievery, therefore reducing you to a thing, an object.”

“Isn’t that what I am in the eyes of the law?”

“Yes.” Hayley felt a twinge of guilt. As a freeman, she was well aware of some of her fellow freemen’s opinions of slaves. It permeated the culture. “But what do _you_ think about yourself?”

The shredding of the tissue stopped as the Prize said quietly, “I think that I’m a human being and have the right to be treated as one.”

Hayley nodded. “I agree.”

He stopped rocking. “You’re like Barbara.”

“Who’s Barbara?”

“She occasionally tutors Dick when I’m unavailable. She really likes working with slaves.”

“You’re right, I _am_ like Barbara.”

The shy smile pleased Hayley. Trust from a slave was precious, indeed.

“You are treated well here, you said?”

“Very well.”

“Good. I have heard great things bout Bruce Wayne.”

“He’s very kind and considerate. Do you know the story of how he brought Dick home?”

Hayley nodded. “After the poor child saw his parents killed right in front of him, Bruce Wayne took him in.”

The Prize nodded. “He’s given Dick a home.” Shuddering, he continued, “I don’t like to think what might have been his fate if our Master hadn’t brought him home.”

Hayley noted that the K’Shaya had said ‘brought him home’ instead of ‘bought him’. Subtle difference, yet with all the difference in the world.

“So you’re close to Dick?”

“Yes. Alfred, too.”

“That must make things easier.”

“Very much.”

“Do you feel safe here, _K’Shaya?”_

“I…of course I do.” Nervous fingers began to shred the tissue again. “Master Bruce has set out guards around the grounds.”

“Is that customary?”

“No, but the Master seemed to think it was necessary.”

“Probably a wise precaution, considering what happened.”

“Yes.”

The shredding grew faster.

“Are you happy here?”

“Very much so.”

Hayley analyzed her patient’s tone. He sounded sincere.

“This is a very comfortable room.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Would you care to show me the rest of the house?”

“I…I really don’t think I should.”

“That’s all right.” Hayley smiled. “Tell me about your time here.”

Her patient waxed enthusiastically about his life at the Manor, Hayley making a few notes but mainly listening. When he concluded, she said, “It appears that Gotham agrees with you.”

“It’s an interesting city.”

“So says my twin sister.”

“You have a twin? That must be wonderful.” He smiled shyly.

Hayley couldn’t help but smile back. He had a lovely smile. “It’s never a dull moment. She’s a psychiatrist, too. Criminal minds are her specialty.”

“She’ll have fertile hunting grounds here.”

Hayley laughed. “Very true. She’s on staff at Arkham.” She uncrossed her legs and stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, _K’Shaya.”_

“Thank you, Dr. Quinzell.”

Hayley nodded and left the bedroom, confident that progress could be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t put Hayley’s name in the Characters/Pairings line so you could get a little surprise about her twin sister. Hayley is my OC. I have no idea if Harley has any siblings. ;)


	30. The Sword Of Krypton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious young woman contacts a band of Kryptonian refugees.

_From the fires  
Of Destruction,  
Rises the Great Savior  
Of all Krypton._

_The cries of his people  
Ring throughout  
The Valley of Despair  
As his Sun shines._

_He shall gather his people  
Scattered throughout the stars  
And give them hope  
Again._

  


**Psalm 68  
Song Of The _Sal-Vor_   
"The Book Of Rao"   
Pre-Modern Krypton**

Lor-Val struggled up the rocky incline, glad he was wearing boots that were still in good condition. He and his band of refugees had been on the run for so long, he was not surprised that they were close to tatters as to clothing, glancing down at his own shabby outfit.

He scrambled over the top, reaching the small plateau in front of the cave.

“Val!” A thin, copper-haired woman came out of the cave.

“Fresh greens, Marla.”

She eagerly opened the sack he handed her. “Excellent, Lor-Val! Supper will be tasty indeed.”

“You’re the best cook I know, Marla.”

Marla smiled, pushing back a lock of brown hair from her eyes. “Thank you.”

Lor-Val smiled. He followed her into the cave, nodding at the two men posted as look-outs.

Deeper into the cave Marla and Lor-Val went, finally emerging into a high-ceilinged area.

The rest of their band was here, tired and disheveled but still in good spirits as far as Lor-Van could tell. Thank Rao for that!

Lor-Val pushed a lock of blue-black hair out of his eyes. His hair was getting shaggy, but that was the least of his worries.

“What’s our next move, Lor-Val?” asked Tor-Val, a stocky man with thinning hair and piercing green eyes, Lor-Val’s cousin.

“We’ll lay low here for awhile, then head for Altair VI.”

“Are you still planning assimilation?”

Lor-Val nodded. “We’ll still stay in contact, but only by one person knowing one person and no one else.”

“Should we stay in contact at all?” Kalila asked.

“We can discuss it before we reach Altair.”

The refugees nodded. 

“Lor-Val!” called one of the guards. “Unidentified being on the horizon!”

They stayed in the shadows of the mouth of the cave, watching as a slim figure walked over the rocky terrain.

“A woman.” Lor-Val squinted as Tor-Val used the binoculars. “Is she Gov?”

“Not by the rags she’s wearing.”

“Could be a trick.”

Tor-Val grunted his agreement, muscles tense.

The woman approached the hillside, blond hair blowing as a gust of hot wind swept the valley. She looked up at the cave and began climbing up the incline.

“Damn,” Tor-Val hissed.

They tensed, waiting for the woman to reach the plateau. Lor-Val hated the thought of possibly giving an order to terminate her, but they could not afford discovery. Still, he would try and see if they could avoid that. 

The blond paused as she climbed the rise.

“Kryptonians, I mean you no harm.”

“She speaks Kryptonese,” Tor-Val said.

“Hmm, yes, but it could be a trick.” Lor-Val clenched his fist.

“Van-Zee?” she called.

“Who the hell is this?” Tor-Val muttered.

Lor-Val made a decision. “Cover me.” He stepped out of the cave. “Who are you?”

“Someone who believes in our people’s freedom.”

Lor-Val frowned. “How’d you find us?”

“I tracked your band from Kelvan. I want to organize a ring of Kryptonians for freedom across the Empire.”

Lor-Val raised an eyebrow. “Ambitious, are we?”

She laughed. 

Marla suddenly emerged from the cave. “Invite her in, Lor-Val.”

He smiled. “Marla has spoken.”

& & & & & &

“So you’re avoided the Govs?” Lor-Val asked.

The blond nodded. “It’s tricky business, as you know.”

Marla put a hand on the girl’s knee. “You should stay with us, dear.”

A small smile quirked rosy lips. “Thank you, but I have to keep moving, contacting who I can find, forming a strong ring.”

Lor-Val frowned. “That’s been tried. The Empire found everyone in this last movement and executed them all.”

“We can’t give up.” The crackling fire reflected in the young woman’s eyes. “We have to fight the injustice of the Hunt Decree!” She leaned forward. “Do you know where I can contact Van-Zee?” 

“Van-Zee advocates assimilation.”

She frowned. “He was a leader of the last movement…” 

“I think he realized how futile it was.”

Blue eyes sparked. “It’s _never_ futile!” She stood up abruptly, knocking over her salad bowl. “My mother and father were killed by the Empire! We lived in Argo City!”

The Kryptonians cringed at the mention of the ill-fated city.

The girl’s eyes were blazing. “I was sent off in a rocket just before the Empire’s forces showed up and _blasted_ my home to pieces! We were safe behind the forcefield, free from detection, until our defenses were breached!” The girl’s hands were clenched into fists.

“My dear, it was a terrible thing, but revenge isn’t in our realm of possibility right now,” Marla said softly.

“But it _can_ be!” Messianic fervor burned in blue eyes. “Our Sal-Vor can help lead us!”

“Sal-Vor? Savior?”

The girl nodded vigorously. “Kal-El!”

“That’s a pipe dream, girl,” Tor-Val grunted.

She shot daggers at him. “He survived the Great Destruction. Jor-El sent him off in a rocket before Krypton exploded. He’s a grown man now, able to lead us. As the heir to the House Of El and the only surviving child of Jor-El and Lara, it’s his duty.” 

“If he’s alive, why hasn’t he come forward?”

Excitement shone in her eyes. “He’s already attacked the slavers’ camp on Actium.”

“Yes, and the Govs captured the guy. He’s probably dead. They used Green K on him to blast him out of the sky.”

“He could have survived.”

“Dear…” Marla said.

The blond shook her head. “I know our people in that slavers’ camp were slated to be turned over to the Govs for execution, but we know that sometimes there is escape.” 

“The House Of El is dead,” Lor-Val said softly.

She shook her head and left the circle, heading for the cave entrance.

Turning back, she said, “The House Of El is still alive! And Kal-El will head us to freedom and avenge us on our enemies! Those who advocate slavery and our persecution will _pay!”_

She stormed out of the cave and down the hillside.

& & & & & &

Back in the cave, Marla shook her head. “Poor girl.”

“Poor _deluded_ girl,” added Tor-Val.

& & & & & &

The girl shaded her eyes as she squinted up at the sun.

“Rao help me,” she whispered. “I _do_ believe in Kal-El. He is alive.” Rage darkened her pretty face. “And all those who’ve wronged us…the Empire, the prejudiced, the slaveowners…will die by the Sword of Krypton.” She closed her eyes. “I swear I will I will find you, Cousin, or my name isn’t Kara Zor-El.”

Kara walked over the rocky terrain toward her Destiny.


	31. First Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Quinzel makes painful progress with Clark.

_A slave’s lot  
Is to endure…  
But it ain’t easy._

  


**Unknown Slave  
1866 C.E.**

“So, the food here must be fabulous.”

The Prize laughed. “Yes, Alfred is a master chef. He’s teaching me how to cook some of his favorite recipes.”

“Are you good at it?”

“I am.” Pride shone in his voice.

Hayley crossed her legs, writing on her datapad but in a relaxed mood.

“I feel as if…I’ve helped out in the kitchen before.”

“Before you came here?” He nodded. She knew about his amnesia. “”Do you ever remember fragments of your life before?”

“I think…sometimes…in my dreams.”

Hayley nodded. “What do you dream about?”

“A warm kitchen…much smaller than here…wonderful smells of apple pie and gingerbread…arms hugging me…”

As he hesitated, Hayley said gently, “Go on, _K’Shaya.”_

“I feel…safe.” He took a deep breath “…not like…”

“…the slavers’ camp?”

He started shredding his tissue. “Yes,” he whispered.

& & & & & &

Bruce was restless. Hayley Quinzel was upstairs in session with Clark, but even though he knew that she was helping, he was still worried. Therapy was never easy. He had undergone sessions after his parents’ murders, and he had hated every one of them. He had learned nothing about himself or the cruel, uncaring universe that had snatched his parents away from him. 

Yet Clark clearly needed help.

_Damn Edmund!_

Bruce left the study and passed the library.

“Mr. Wayne!”

He turned and saw Barbara, who hurried over to him with a shopping bag. “I found this the day…your Prize was taken. You dropped it.”

Bruce looked at the books that Barbara took out of the bag. “Thank you, Barbara.” He had forgotten about these valuable books. He hoped that Clark would be able to read the poems from his poetry book to him, though he might not want the tome, associating it with that horrific day. 

She looked toward the stairs. “Your Prize was hurt very badly, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry, Dr. Quinzel will help him.”

Bruce was amused at the child’s solemnity but carefully did not show it. “I hope you’re right.”

“I know so.”

Bruce smiled at Barbara, who returned to Dick and his lessons.

“Now, Dick, what can you tell me about the Stamp Act?”

Bruce put the books on his desk, then left the children to their lesson, returning to the study.

& & & & & &

"Is the slavers' camp your first memory?"

"Yes." The Prize looked down.

“You were classified as a virgin.”

“That didn’t stop them.”

“From what?”

“From…from humiliating me. Hurting me.”

“How?”

“I…I don’t want to say.”

“It would be good for you to get it out,” Hayley said gently.

The Prize still didn’t look at her, but began talking.

“They dragged me out of my cage…I was naked…when I woke up, I was so confused…terrified…I couldn’t _remember_ …they laughed at me…said I was a whore…” he began rocking back and forth, body hunched over “…they forced me up on my knees…hands all over me…mouths…touching me… _laughing_ …and…and…” 

He stopped, shaking and rocking.

“I’m sorry, _K’Shaya.”_

Only the sound of the rocking chair could be heard in the silent room.

& & & & & &

“He still won’t leave my room, Doctor.”

Hayley smiled sadly at Bruce. “Trauma takes a long time to heal.”

“Has he told you what Edmund did to him?”

Hayley took out her electronic appointment book. “I suggest you read the police report again, Mr. Wayne.” She punched in the date and time of her next appointment. “I’ll be here tomorrow.”

Bruce frowned as she left, an uneasy feeling in his stomach as he looked upstairs.


	32. Dam, Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark’s pain, past and present, breaks through his emotional walls.

_Hold back  
The torrent  
Of emotions,  
Walled   
Like a dam,  
Until  
The dam breaks._

  


**Sylvia Soleil  
"Time And Again"   
2009 C.E.**

Bruce felt sick as he read over the report. No anal penetration, which of course he had greatly feared. Bruises, cuts, especially under his right eye.

Bruises around the mouth. Severe bruising.

“You bastard, Edmund,” he whispered into the quiet of the study.

“Did you say something, sir?” Alfred asked, pausing in the study doorway.

“No, Alfred, thank you.”

The butler nodded and was about to move on when he hesitated. 

“What is it, Alfred?”

“Sir, if I may…?”

Bruce nodded and his old friend came into the room. He leaned back in his chair, waiting for Alfred to speak.

The butler was very precise, hands clasped behind his back, but Bruce could see the worry in his eyes.

“Sir, how is Clark?”

Bruce sighed. “Still about the same, though Dr. Quinzell says they have made some progress.”

“She is eminently qualified, sir.”

“Yes, I know.” Bruce waved at the chair in front of his desk and Alfred sat down. “Jim Gordon highly recommended her.”

“She is a fervent slaves’ rights advocate.”

“Yes, she’s done a lot of good work with the N.A.S.”

Alfred inclined his head. “Is that the police report, sir?”

Bruce wasn’t surprised that Alfred knew about the report. He knew about everything.

“Yes.”

Alfred looked very sad. “I am sorry.”

“So am I.”

“Master Bruce, if Clark can’t recover…”

“He’s strong, Alfred.”

“But also very fragile, sir. What if this reinforces his timidity?”

“Then I’ll always care for him, keep him safe. Not that I did such a bang-up job the first time,” he finished bitterly. 

Alfred put his hand over Bruce’s on the desk. “None of this was your fault.”

Bruce remembered those words after Crime Alley, Alfred wanting to impress on a grieving eight-year-old boy that his parents’ deaths had been Joe Chill’s fault, not his, and that he should have no survivor’s guilt.

He turned his hand over and clasped Alfred’s hand.

The butler smiled softly. Their clasp ended and he stood.

“As long as Clark has you, he will be fine.”

Bruce smiled as Alfred left the room.

He certainly hoped so.

He closed the report and left the study, heading upstairs.

& & & & & &

Clark looked up as Bruce entered the bedroom. He smiled and said, “Hello, Master.” He was sitting cross-legged on the bed.

“Hello, Clark.” Bruce kissed the top of his love’s head. “How are you feeling?”

The smile faded. “All right.” He sighed. “Did Dr. Quinzel say anything to you?”

“Nothing specific. She’s very good at keeping doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“Oh.” Clark shifted restlessly. “That’s good.”

Bruce admired Hayley Quinzel’s principles but wished she was a little less ethical. He would like to have more details about her sessions with Clark.

Bruce began undressing, well-sated by one of Alfred’s fine dinners. Dick was taking a nap before patrol, and Bruce was looking forward to a little quiet time before the nightly mission.

“Let me,” Clark said, climbing off the bed and unbuttoning Bruce’s shirt.

Bruce relaxed, enjoying the teasing foreplay. He wasn’t sure if sex would be the end result. He and Clark hadn't had sex since the kidnapping, his lover too skittish. Petting and kissing would be fine with him, especially with what he suspected…

Clark initiated a kiss, Bruce cupping Clark's elbows as he felt his lover's hands skim over his chest. Clark removed his Master's shirt and began nibbling down his throat and chest, lips brushing over his nipples.

Bruce shuddered, his body tingling. How he’d missed this!

“Mmm, baby…” He brushed Clark’s hair back as he groaned. 

Clark slid to his knees, unzipping Bruce’s pants and clutching at his hips.

“Need this…” He rubbed his face against Bruce’s groin. “I can’t…need to forget…”

Hot breath blew on Bruce’s cock, his fingers entwining in Clark’s hair. He shivered as Clark’s tongue licked his flesh, wet and warm, delicious and…

“Clark?”

“I can’t.” Tears were streaming down his face as he bowed his head.

“Wha…?” Bruce tried to clear his sex-fogged head. He zipped up his pants and knelt in front of Clark, gripping his shoulders. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I can’t…I’m sorry…”

“Clark…”

Clark suddenly pushed Bruce away, shocking his Master. Clark wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back-and-forth.

“I’m just a slut…whore…”

Heart sinking, Bruce said, “Clark, no!”

“He said you couldn’t want me… _wouldn’t_ want me…anymore…not after…”

“What, Clark?” Fear coiled in Bruce’s gut.

“The slavers…they _forced_ me…to…to…I had to take them in my _mouth_ …they called me a cocksucking whore… _laughed_ at me…the guards the night before the auction…did the same…”

“And who else, Clark?” Bruce asked, his heart breaking.

Clark looked up, tears streaming down his face. “Didn’t you hear me, Master? I _sucked off_ those men, _dozens_ of them! I crawled on my hands and knees and knelt in front of them, one after the other, again and again…I choked on their cocks but still sucked them off, their seed in me…running down my throat…or all over my face and hair if they pulled out, laughing…my neck, my chest…they put me back in my cage, covered in their cum…the guards, too…they had to clean me up before the auction…” His voice rose to a wail. “My literal first memories of this world I live in were _those!”_

Bruce was shaking, wanting to hold Clark tight, but Clark’s body language was screaming _Stay away!_ Tears in his own eyes, his heart ached.

“Ed…Edmund called me a slut, a whore…he’s right…he…I could have fought him...I would’ve lost my eye…I shut down…when he…I opened my mouth… _I sucked him off and his seed is in me now…!”_

Horror surged up in Bruce and he grabbed Clark’s shoulders, ignoring his lover’s flinch.

“Clark. _Listen_ to me!” He shook his slave gently. “You had no choice! Edmund _forced_ you to submit! I’m sorry!”

Clark was sobbing, “I couldn’t help them…screaming…can’t help _anyone…!”_

“Clark, please,” Bruce begged. “Hear me!” He lifted up Clark’s tear-ravaged face. “I could never blame you for survival! I’m so sorry to have failed you.”

Clark blinked, clutching Bruce’s arms. “How…you didn’t fail me, Bruce!”

“Of course I did! I ‘m supposed to _protect_ you, Clark. I let that monster steal you right from under my nose!”

“Bruce…it wasn’t your fault. I _knew_ you’d come for me. You saved me!”

“Too late,” Bruce said sadly.

“No, you did everything you could, Bruce.”

“So did you.” Bruce kissed Clark’s forehead. “You did what you had to do to stay whole and alive for me. You’ve been so strong, love.”

“I haven’t.” Clark shook his head. “I’ve been so _afraid.”_

“With good reason.” Bruce stroked Clark’s cheek with his thumb. “I can’t imagine what terrors you must have gone through, so vulnerable to Edmund’s cruelties!”

“I should have been stronger.”

Bruce’s fingers carded through his lover’s hair. “You were. You’ve survived more than I ever could.”

“No, Bruce…”

“It’s true. I’d be all rage and bile and wouldn’t last a year before I’d be terminally broken. You take blow-after-blow and continue to survive, even with happiness.” Bruce’s eyes shone with respect.

Humbled, Clark said in a near-whisper, “Thank you, Master.”

Bruce gently drew him into an embrace.

“It’s all right, I promise, you’re safe now, love, I swear it.”

Clark clung tightly to Bruce.

There would be no patrol tonight.


	33. Screams, Fading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A disturbing tape comes to light.

_The echo of anguish  
Is sharp and cutting  
As screams, fading  
Through the night  
Settle on the edges  
To come back  
When Darkness falls  
Again._

  


**Sarah Selkind  
"Lurking In The Night"   
2013 C.E.**

Bruce felt both tired and relaxed. Tired after the draining session of last night, relaxed that Clark was on the road to healing.

Edmund hadn’t won.

Clark had still been asleep when Bruce showered, dressed, and come downstairs to his study. It was later than his usual rising time but Alfred had not awakened him, no doubt aware of last night’s emotional trauma. Nothing escaped him.

There were no meetings scheduled in town, so Bruce decided to work from home, letting Clark sleep. His lover desperately needed rest.

Bruce had requested a blueberry muffin and cranberry juice, Alfred bringing both to him, along with a manila envelope.

“Commissioner Gordon dropped this off, sir.” He set the envelope down on the desk. “He said Robin recovered this from the Caldwell cabin after Clark’s rescue. He thought it was video evidence of the kidnapping.”

“It’s not?” Bruce was relieved, especially after his fears had been confirmed last night.

“No, but whatever it is, he seemed rather upset. He said to view it with caution as it’s rather disturbing.”

Bruce frowned. “Thank you, Alfred.”

The butler nodded and left the room. Bruce took a bite of the excellent muffin and checked his e-mail. Nothing urgent.

He opened the envelope, a viddisc sliding out. He put it in his recorder and clicked ‘Play’ as he settled back into his chair.

& & & & & &

Five minutes later he clicked off the recorder, white-faced and nauseous. He pushed away the plate with the muffin.

“Sir?”

Bruce turned to see Alfred standing in the doorway, just as pale.

“Edmund’s little games,” Bruce rasped.

“Abominable.”

“Agreed.” Light footsteps were coming down the hall. Dick cheerfully poked his head in. “Is Clark better today…Bruce, what’s wrong?”

“Did you see the tape that you gave Jim after we rescued Clark?”

Dick shook his head. “I thought it’d be evidence.”

Relief swept Bruce that, of course, it wasn’t evidence and that Dick hadn’t seen the tape.

_And he never will._

“Bruce, was it bad? Poor Clark!”

Bruce grasped Dick’s arm. “It’s okay, Dick. He wasn’t on the tape.” _Thank all the gods there might be._

Relieved, Dick asked, “What was on it?” He looked apprehensive. 

Bruce exchanged a quick look with Alfred. “It shows Edmund’s true nature.” He frowned. “Unfortunately, not prosecutable.”

“A shame, sir.” Alfred’s words were laced with venom.

Dick made a nervous motion with his hands. “How is Clark?”

“Better.”

“He was…he was hurt by Mr. Caldwell, wasn’t he?”

Bruce sighed. “Yes.”

Sadness washed over Dick. “I’m…I’m sorry…”

Bruce rubbed his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.” Dick nodded. “Go check on Clark, will you?”

"Yes, sir."

After Dick had hurried out, Alfred said, "Sir, what was on that tape..."

"It's what I said to Dick. What Edmund did...he can't be prosecuted."

"I know." Alfred was very stiff. Bruce knew it was with anger. "I doubt any of his victims survived. I suppose that's a blessing, considering." 

Bruce felt a headache coming on. What if Clark had undergone that torture?

“Alfred, I will protect you and Clark and Dick. I swear it.”

A small smile curved Alfred’s lips. “I know, sir.”

Bruce felt proud at Alfred’s bedrock conviction. “Um…could you place this muffin back in the kitchen? I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Understood, sir.”

Bruce went upstairs. Dick came out of his room. “Clark’s still sleeping.”

“Good.” He ruffled Dick’s hair. “Barbara will be over soon. Better get ready for lessons.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dick dashed back into his bedroom to get his books, Bruce fondly shaking his head. Always a whirlwind!

Bruce quietly entered his bedroom, Clark still curled up under the blankets. After such an emotional storm, he wasn’t surprised. Clark must be completely drained.

He went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, glad for such a mundane task. He didn’t want to think about that tape. Not right now.

“Bruce?”

Bruce came out of the bathroom, happy to see Clark awake.

“Good morning, love.” Bruce sat on the bed, stroking Clark’s beautiful hair. “I hope you had a good sleep.”

Clark rubbed his cheek against Bruce’s palm. “Better than in a long time.”

Relieved, Bruce leaned forward to kiss Clark when his lover grabbed his arm.

“Master! We have to be careful! Edmund Caldwell…he kept intimating that he would hurt Dick! _Please_ don’t let him!”

Clark was trembling, Bruce feeling his own fear rise at the very thought of Dick in Caldwell hands, especially after seeing that tape.

“I couldn’t help them,” Clark said, eyes haunted.

“Who, Clark?”

“The slaves he…he tortured.”

Bruce went cold. “You saw the tape?” he asked softly.

Clark nodded, tears brimming in his eyes. “I couldn’t…they were screaming…I could close my eyes but not cover my ears because I was restrained…they _begged_ for mercy…were mocked and hurt so very badly…it was _horrible…”_

“I know.” Bruce gripped Clark’s shoulders. “I saw the tape.” 

Clark’s eyes widened, then he asked, “How? I mean, Edmund would never give that up willingly.”

“Dick found it.”

Clark grabbed Bruce’s arm again. “He didn’t see what was on it?”

“No.”

Clark sagged in relief. “I…” He was shaking again.

Bruce gently gathered him into a hug, rocking back-and-forth as he rubbed Clark’s back. Clark held on tightly.

Bruce whispered into his ear, “Never again, my love. Never again.”


	34. "I Only Wish To Serve"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayley discusses the Dominant/submissive concept with Clark.

_My body is yours,  
My heart is yours,  
My soul is yours._

_Submission  
Is pure pleasure._

  


**Elliot Steagall  
"Peaches And Other Poems"   
2015 C.E.**

“I don’t mind submitting.”

Hayley looked at the _K’Shaya_ , interest ratcheting up. She remained calm as always.

“It’s not a problem for you?”

The Prize blushed as he nodded. “I…I never have.”

“He owns you.”

“Yes.”

“Not by your choice.” The slight hesitation piqued Hayley’s interest even more. “You’re talking about a Dom/sub dynamic.”

 _K’Shaya_ nodded, still blushing but proud just the same.

“I know D/S is a part of Human psychology as well as many other races” She tapped her stylus on her datapad. “So you feel comfortable submitting?”

“Y…Yes.”

She was delighted by his rosy blush. What a sweetheart!

“I know you would prefer freedom, but some might find it odd that you would willingly place yourself back into slavery.”

“It’s different.”

“Because…”

“…it would be my choice.”

Hayley nodded in satisfaction. “You’re right, _K’Shaya_. Dom/sub relationships are entered into freely by both parties, satisfying both partners’ needs. Besides, the sub holds the power.” She winked and _K’Shaya_ blushed but laughed. She could see how _K’Shaya_ could inveigle his Master. Bruce Wayne was a powerful man, but susceptible to beauty and the goodness of heart that she could clearly see in his Prize. Like all good subs, _K’Shaya_ could get what he wanted while happily serving his Dom, which he needed desperately, as much as his Dom needed him to serve. 

“I…did some research on it. D/s is strictly forbidden.”

“Yes. Society frowns on freemen even playing at D/s. Oh, bondage games in the bedroom are all right, but nothing in public, and no living a D/s lifestyle. People figure with bedslaves so freely available, it’s redundant. Not to mention an erosion of social norms.”

“They don’t understand Human nature,” the Prize said quietly.

“No, they don’t.” Impressed, Hayley said, “Mr. Wayne is clearly of the intelligent companion school.” At the slave’s inquiring look she explained, “Some Masters prefer beautiful bodies but empty heads. Others want intellectual as well as physical stimulation.”

“Ah, yes, Master Bruce does want companionship.”

“It looks like you fill that role admirably.” The shy smile dazzled Hayley. “So you’re happy with this relationship?”

“I am.”

“Good.” Hayley wrote on her pad. “It makes things easier.”

Her patient nodded. Bruce Wayne had told her that she had guessed correctly about what had happened during the kidnapping. She was sorry to be right but not surprised.

"Your Master believes in Abolition."

”He does."

"That must help you, too."

"It does." He laughed. "Sorry for the short answers."

She smiled. "Perfectly all right." She scribbled a note. _"K'Shaya,_ would you like to talk about what happened in the cabin?"

He stiffened. "I..."

"Talking about it will help you get past it."

He looked down, fingers entwining. “He…Edmund…had me tied to the bed…I woke up naked and …and chained…to the bed…he…” The Prize grabbed a tissue, twisting it around and around. “He made it clear what he and his sons were going to do to me. And he...” The Prize swallowed, shaking slightly. “He threatened me with a knife…said if I didn’t suck him off…I’d lose my eye.”

“So you did it.”

“Yes.” His voice was so soft that Hayley could barely hear it.

“You told your Master about it.”

“I did.”

”He didn’t reject you.”

“Oh, no! Quite the contrary.”

“That’s good.” Hayley continued rocking. “Do you think you failed him?”

“I thought…I should have fought harder.”

“You would have lost your eye.”

“Yes.”

“He prefers you whole, _K’Shaya.”_

“And violated?”

“He knows what happened in the slavers’ camp, the auction hall, and in that cabin. He knows none of it’s your fault.” She stopped rocking. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, _K’Shaya.”_

He looked up, and she swore she could see his eyes even behind those dark glasses.

“I only wish to serve.”

Hayley kept her expression neutral. She felt that the Prize’s statement was something more than slave for Master, but kept it to herself.

If it was anything more, she would not reveal it.


	35. First Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark takes an important step toward recovery.

_"The first step is always a doozy."_

  


**Alan Breck  
Comedian  
2246 C.E.**

“C’mon, Dick, get ready.”

“Right away!”

Dick dashed out of the kitchen, Clark looking inquisitively at Bruce. 

Bruce was ecstatic that Clark had left their bedroom and was beginning to walk around the house and estate again. He had come down to breakfast, and carried a good appetite. Clark’s tearful confession about his rape had begun his healing and Dr. Quinzell was continuing the process.

“Dick’s getting ready to go into town with me. I’ve got an important meeting.”

Bruce was accustomed to his slaves taking notes for him, freeing him to pay attention to other things. Clark was usually his note-taker, but Dick had done it before, and he was necessary with Clark unable to perform that task.

“I…want to come with you, Master.”

Surprised, Bruce said, “Dick can handle things. You don’t have to push yourself to go off the estate yet.” Bruce was happy that Clark had left the bedroom, but was worried that going off the estate was too much too soon. He had beefed up security quite a bit and felt confident that Clark would be safe here.

“I can do this, Master.” Clark squared his shoulders.

“All right.”

Bruce watched Clark leave the kitchen to get dressed. He didn’t want to squelch any initiative by Clark, but he was still worried. It would be his first time in public since his kidnapping.

“Take care of him, sir.”

Bruce looked at Alfred. “I will.”

Alfred nodded crisply. “Very good, sir.”

& & & & & &

Bruce gathered some papers as Dick appeared in the doorway of the study.

“Bruce?”

“Hmm?”

“Clark is coming with us?”

“Yes.” Bruce looked at his Squire. “I know you were supposed to take notes…”

Dick waved his hand. “No big deal. I’m just worried about Clark.”

“I know.” Bruce snapped his briefcase shut. “We’ll have to keep our eye on him.”

“Batman and Robin on the job,” Dick said confidently.

Bruce smiled and squeezed the boy’s shoulders. “That’s right.”

& & & & & &

“Master? Put these on me, please.”

Bruce looked at the lengths of chain that Clark held out. For a moment, he looked ready to refuse as he entered the foyer, paused, then nodded. He attached the links to Clark’s manacles.

Clark controlled his breathing as they left the estate, Brendan driving them in the limousine. Dick was chattering, asking Bruce about the meeting, and Clark gratefully concentrated on that subject, trying to ignore his pulse racing and stomach fluttering. 

The city loomed up through the tinted windows, fear creeping up the closer they got to Gotham. He moved his hand to check for his stylus, the chains rattling lightly.

He calmed, feeling safe.

& & & & & &

Brendan opened the door, Dick hopping out and exchanging a grin with the chauffeur. Bruce emerged next, Clark right behind him.

Bruce was every inch the Prince as he strode into Wayne Enterprises, Dick a sparkling presence beside him, Clark quiet in Bruce’s wake, the gold chain stretching out between them. 

Clark kept his attention on his Master, aware of eyes on him. Whispers trailed behind him, or maybe he had imagined them. It didn’t matter. He was going to get through this day!

Bruce and his entourage entered the elevator, Dick putting on his ‘game face’ as they reached Bruce’s floor, carrying his briefcase.

“Good morning, Allison,” Bruce said to his secretary.

“Good morning, Mr. Wayne.” The brunette smiled at Dick, who smiled back. She did the same with Clark, who smiled shyly.

“The conference room is ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Richard, go put my briefcase in there, and Allison will direct you to get the proper refreshments.”

“Yes, Master!”

Dick went off at a dignified pace, though Bruce and Clark knew that he was itching to run. They exchanged a smile, then Bruce got his messages from Allison.

Two other secretaries walked by, chattering about vacation plans, snatches of conversation drifting back.

“I think we’ll do Cancun this year.”

“We’re thinking off-world…”

“…Gotham is so miserable in winter.”

“Damned crooks in this city…”

“…imagine Caldwell out on bail!”

“…Falcone’s scum, and so’s Zucco.”

“…did you get that shuttle deal?”

Clark shivered, glad of the chain connecting him to Bruce. 

“Thanks, Allison.” Bruce turned. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Clark nodded. Bruce smiled, then straightened and said, “Come.”

Clark obediently followed, on alert but more relaxed than he would have guessed. They entered the conference room, a few attendees already there, talking amongst themselves.

“You’ll have to sit at my feet with the chain,” Bruce said regretfully.

Clark suddenly felt ashamed. Bruce had led him around by the chain because he knew it made Clark feel safe, even though he rarely chained his slaves.

“No.” At Bruce’s surprised look, he said quickly, “I’m not disobeying, Master. I wish to be unchained.”

“Ah.” Bruce unlocked the chain.

Clark gently touched Bruce’s arm. “Not because of the kneeling. I would do so if you wanted me to. I…I need to do this.” He gestured at his unchained manacles.

Bruce smiled. “Let’s get you settled.” He put the chains in his briefcase that Dick had set on the table, escorting Clark to a chair in the corner. As Clark sat down, arranging his datapad and stylus, Bruce asked softly, “You sure you’re okay?”

Clark nodded. Bruce looked like he wanted to say something else, but other people were coming in.

“All right.” His eyes spoke his love, and he returned to the table.

Dick wheeled in a cart, setting up the refreshments, drawing smiles from some of the attendees. Clark smiled, too. Dick’s cheerful demeanor always drew a smile or two.

Clark organized his notes, hoping to be ready in time for the meeting.

“Clark.”

Clark nearly jumped. He looked up to see Steve and Hal standing before him.

“You look well!” Clark said happily, noting Hal walking, albeit with a cane, and Steve looked better, too.

Steve rested a hand on his shoulder, a smile on his face. “Thanks.” Hal nodded with a smile. “And don’t worry, Clark. You’re safe here.”

Clark felt a rush of warmth for both men. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Both men nodded, giving Clark’s shoulder a squeeze. They moved off to the table, people beginning to settle into their seats. Dick quickly took a seat next to Clark, paying attention to the meeting, using his powers of observation as Clark was taking the notes.

Elias Stark glanced their way, disapproval in his expression. Clark discounted that disapproval, as the general thought little of slaves. After Stark looked away, Dick squeezed Clark’s arm. Clark smiled at him.

The meeting went well, Clark rapidly taking notes. He was happy to concentrate on this task after all the recent trauma.

The first half of the meeting concluded, everyone stretching and ready for a break. Bruce smiled and spoke with Steve and Hal, then beckoned Clark and Dick to him.

Bruce brought them to his office and private bathroom, joking about ‘Princely privilege’. As Steve and Hall talked with each other, Bruce took some calls.

“Would you get me some water, Richard?” Allison asked.

“Sure, ma’am!”

“I’ll come with you,” Clark said. They were safe here in Wayne Enterprises.

They walked to the vending machine, Dick getting water bottles for Allison, Clark, Bruce, Steve, Hal, and himself.

“Whoa, that’s a lot of bottles,” Clark laughed. He helped Dick, taking three of the bottles.

“C’mon, Cl… _Kla’xel!_


	36. Pride Of The Prize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark finds himself in a dangerous situation but pride wins out.

_"A slave’s pride in his Master is important to his well-being."_

  


**Dr. Hayley Quinzel  
"Slave Psychology"   
2246 C.E.**

Clark was stiff with horror, his face uncomfortably close to Edmund’s groin.

How did he get in here?

The cane traced Clark’s jaw, cheeks, and nose. It paused on his mouth.

“Such a talented mouth,” Edmund purred. “Pity you didn’t get the opportunity to sample, son.”

Harrison sounded uneasy. “Dad, this isn’t a good idea.”

“Nonsense, boy. One can always take the time to appreciate a natural cocksucker’s mouth, and his whore’s body…”

The tip of the cane slipped down Clark’s throat, chest, and rested between his legs.

As fearful as Clark was, anger leapt up in his heart. How _dare_ Edmund Caldwell do this to him again! Disrespecting his Master, trying to take what wasn’t _his…!_

Clark glared, the anger hidden by his dark glasses, but Edmund picked up on it.

“Defiance?” He pressed the cane hard into Clark’s groin, Clark clamping down on a whimper of pain. “You whores never really learn, do you?”

Clark remained motionless, prepared for the punishment he knew that was coming…

“What the hell?” A hand knocked away the cane, Bruce’s furious voice ringing down the hall. “How did you get in here, old man?” Bruce grabbed Clark’s arm and helped him stand, Dick standing close to Clark. Steve and Hal looked ready to do battle.

Edmund smiled, a most unpleasant expression. “You’re not very hospitable, are you, Bruce?”

“I told you to stay away from my slaves.”

“You can’t tell a _free_ man what to do, Bruce.”

Bruce grabbed the front of Edmund’s shirt. _“Stay away_ from my slaves!”

He shoved Edmund up against the wall, turning away contemptuously as he spat over his shoulder, “Get your father out of here, Harrison.”

Clark glanced back, shouting, _“Master!_ Look out!”

He leaped between Bruce and Edmund, crying out as he parried Edmund’s vicious cane thrust with his arm.

_“Ka **'tare!”**_

Bruce’s cry of horror was swallowed up by anger as he lunged at Edmund. Dick was on the floor beside Clark, who had fallen to his knees. Steve and Hal grabbed Bruce, who fought to get free.

“Master Bruce,” Dick pleaded.

Bruce heard the young voice and stopped struggling. “How are you, Ka _'tare?”_

“I…I believe my arm is broken, Master.”

Security men hurried down the hall.

“Remove the Caldwells. From now on, they are _not_ allowed entrance for _any_ reason.”

“Yes, Mr. Wayne.”

Edmund screamed as they hauled him away, Harrison trailing behind.

“How _dare_ you treat me this way! You’ll pay for this, Wayne! Is it worth disgracing yourself over a fucking slut?”

Dick tightened his arm around Clark’s shoulders, and Bruce laid a hand on his injured slave’s shoulder.

“We’ll get you fixed up,” Bruce murmured.

“Thank you, Master.”

Bruce helped Clark to his feet and Steve picked up Hal’s cane, dropped in the struggle to keep Bruce from throttling Edmund. 

“Are you all right?” Steve asked his lover.

“Yeah.” Hal looked a little unsteady as he grasped the cane, Steve grabbing his arm. “What about you? You’re not exactly in great shape yourself.”

“We’re a pair, huh?”

Hal snorted. “No kidding.”

At the conference room, Bruce told one of the attendees that he was taking Clark to the hospital.

“What’s going on?” Elias Stark demanded, coming to the doorway. 

“My Prize was injured. Richard, get his things.”

“Yes, Master.”

Dick darted past Stark, gathering up Clark’s datapad and stylus. Stark frowned.

“You can’t leave now! The meeting’s not over.”

“I know, General, but as I explained, I have to take my Prize to the hospital.”

“Can’t you wait until after the meeting?”

“No, he’s in pain.”

“Send him with your Squire, then.”

“Without a freeman? I don’t think so. Don’t worry, General, Majors Jordan and Trevor will bring me up to speed.” His cellphone rang. “Wayne here. Ah, Mr. Hagerty. Yes, I want you to find out how the Caldwells got into the building. They are never to be allowed in ever again, clear? Thank you.” Bruce pocketed his phone. “See you at the next meeting, General.”

Stark looked extremely displeased as Bruce escorted Clark down the hall, Dick on Clark’s other side.


	37. Instincts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the latest incident with Edmund, Clark and Bruce reveal some truths to each other.

_"A slave’s good instincts will probably save his emotional well-being, not to mention his life."_

  


**Dr. Hayley Quinzel  
"Slave Psychology"   
2246 C.E.**

“How _dare_ that old leche try and hurt you _again!_ He’s insane, you know! Absolutely off-his-rocker! I’ll make sure he pays for what he did to you, Clark!”

Bruce had been ranting ever since they had arrived home from the hospital. Despite going to the hospital that the Wayne family had supported for years, Bruce had watched the emergency room physician like a hawk as he had set and fused the bones in Clark’s arm.

Clark was sitting on the bed, careful of his cast. He would have to wear it for a few days to protect the newly-fused bones. 

“I won’t let Edmund terrorize you any longer! And I’ll keep Dick and Alfred safe from him, too. I’ve beefed up the security around here and I intend to make sure those kidnapping charges stick.”

“Bruce…”

“And I’m going to make sure that old man is branded a pariah! He’s insane! He shouldn’t be allowed to own slaves! Crazy old coot!”

“Bruce…”

“He’ll find he’s met his match in me. I _swear_ he won’t hurt you _ever_ again!”

_“Bruce!”_

Bruce stopped in mid-tirade. “What? Are you in pain? I knew I should have insisted on stronger meds…”

Clark grabbed his lover’s arm. “I’m fine.”

Bruce blinked, then sank down ruefully onto the bed. “I’m sorry.” He rubbed Clark’s good arm. “I…I just couldn’t believe it when Dick burst into my office, terrified and pleading with me to save you. He could have done it himself with his Robin training, but of course that was out of the question.”

“He’s a great kid.”

Bruce looked down. “He is.” He continued stroking Clark’s arm. “Clark, I’m so sorry.”

“None of this was your fault, Bruce.”

Bruce looked up and met Clark’s eyes. “I failed you.”

“Security let Edmund slip through…”

“I’m not talking about today.” Pain reflected in Bruce’s eyes. “I’m talking about the day you were kidnapped.”

“Bruce…”

“I won’t let you out of my sight, Clark.”

Clark smiled slightly. “That isn’t very practical.”

Bruce pushed the stubborn lock of hair back from Clark’s forehead. It always tried to loop into a curl.

“I can make it practical.”

“Ruling the world, huh?”

Bruce smiled slightly. “What good is being the Prince if you can’t shape the world the way you want?” 

Clark laughed softly. “You do a good job if it.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, allowing some smugness in his voice.

Clark squeezed his lover’s arm. “Please don’t feel so guilty.”

“Clark, he raped you.” Bruce nearly flinched at the word. “Though, of course, I’m guilty of the same.”

“No!” Clark shook his head vigorously. “I know technically, you could say that of all Masters and pleasure slaves, but I’ve been thinking about this lately.

“Bruce, I’ve never been afraid of you.”

Bruce tilted his head. Clark smiled at his puzzlement.

“I’ve felt safe with you from Day One. When I first came home to the Manor with you, I was a little nervous, of course, but it still felt safe. It was why I offered myself to you that first night.”

“That was the drugs and your training…” Bruce said, guilt in his eyes.

“No.” Clark took Bruce’s hands. “The drugs would have made me too woozy to think clearly, except for my instincts.”

Bruce tried to pull away. “Your training dictated you offer yourself.”

“That was part of it.” Clark’s grip was firm. “But I wanted to offer myself, Bruce.”

“Out of obligation.”

“No.” Clark squeezed Bruce’s hands. “Out of gratitude, and out of a sense that you’d never hurt me.”

“You didn’t even know me.”

“I have good instincts, Bruce. I knew you would never hurt me.”

“So slamming you into a wall didn’t hurt you?” Bruce said bitterly, thinking of a later incident.

“You were hurting and lost, trying to protect me. I never feared you hurting me in bed. I was only afraid of you sending me away.”

Bruce looked down at their clasped hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Please, Bruce.” Bruce met Clark’s eyes. “That’s over and done. I know you’d never hurt me.” His gaze was soft. “My first memories upon waking up in a new world to me were all harsh and humiliating and horrific, and then you took me in and I felt safe for the first time I could literally remember.” 

Bruce swallowed. “I…”

“Bruce, why are you so hard on yourself? Do you know how happy you’ve made all of us? Haven’t you heard when Alfred hums in the kitchen, or when Dick laughs when he’s on the trapeze or playing in the garden?” Clark smiled his beautiful smile. “Or how I feel when I’m with you?”

Bruce blinked, then drew Clark into a fierce hug.

“How did I get so lucky getting you in my life?”

“I’m lucky, too, Bruce.”

Clark rubbed Bruce’s back, Bruce holding him tight.


	38. Vengeful Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made, some for justice, some for revenge.

_"Man and his plans…what would he do without them?"_

  


**Raj Nehru  
"An Observer Of  
The Human Condition"  
2216 C.E.**

The screams echoed in the living room as Bruce shut off the TV.

Two very shaken women sat on the couch, a third in the overstuffed armchair. Jim Gordon sat in the other chair.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, but…”

“No, it’s okay, Bruce,” Kathy said softly.

“I stopped it after five minutes. You get the gist.”

Lana rocketed off her chair. “That sadistic _bastard!”_ She was trembling with rage. “Those poor souls! My God, Bruce! We don’t even treat murderers and rapists like this! This…it’s utter insanity!”

“I know.”

Lana began pacing. “I’m going to show this fucking tape to the Congressional committee I’m on.”

“Some people would like what they see,” Jim said.

“No doubt, but there will be those as appalled as we are. If this tape doesn’t convince people of the need to have Slave Protection Laws, I don’t know what will.”

Martha looked parchment-white. “Are those people dead?”

“I would guess they are, Mrs. Kent,” said Jim. “We could check the Caldwell inventory, but the victims could have been purchased for torture only, and possibly from unscrupulous slave dealers who sell smuggled bondsmen. There would be no records in that case.” He sighed. “But even if they were legal purchases, we could do nothing. As you well know, a Master has utter dominion over a slave. They can torture and kill at will.”

Anger reflected in the women’s eyes. Lana stood stiffly, red wisps of hair trailing out of her ponytail.

“Commissioner,” she said. “Would you be willing to put your considerable influence behind a bill to enact sweeping Slave Protection Laws?”

“I’m not that influential, Senator…”

“Don’t be so modest, Commissioner. You are more influential than you know.”

“I would be happy to help, Senator. I’m tired of a system that ties my hands when it comes to justice.”

“It’s Lana, please, and understandable that you should be frustrated, Commissioner.”

“Jim, please.”

“A great alliance, then,” Bruce said.

“A productive one,” Lana added as she shook hands with Jim.

“We _will_ stop these abominations.” Jim’s mouth was set in a hard line.

Everyone in the Kane living room nodded grimly.

& & & & & &

Elias Stark looked over the meeting minutes about the Kryptonian Hunt. Nothing spectacular, but still productive. A band had been discovered and wiped out just last week.

He sipped from his water glass, studying the computer screen.

Damn, he could have used Wayne’s input. Queen and Luthor hadn’t been able to make it, and a civilian could have added some needed perspective.

The little incident with Edmund Caldwell had mucked things up. So what if his whore had broken his arm? Couldn’t the slut suck it up?

_Beyond his usual sucking._

Stark smirked.

It had been amusing to watch Wayne rail about breached security. He doubted they’d discover how Edmund got in. 

After all, he hadn’t been a general for all these years and not know good infiltration tactics when he saw them.

Smiling, he returned to his reading.

& & & & & &

“Do you really think that Dr. Allston can come up with a substitute for the drugs the Govs are giving the Amazons?” Steve asked.

He and Hal were sitting in their living room. Hal carefully stretched, trying to keep improving.

“Bruce assured us he’s not only the best at what he does, but he’s an Aldebaran shellmouth of discretion.”

Steve settled back in his chair. “I wish we didn’t have to wait.”

“Dr. Allston says we can have the sub drug ready by the time we go on leave in September. Until then, we plan.”

Steve bit his lip. “I just hate to think of Diana suffering…” he rubbed between his eyes “…but after four centuries, what’s a few more months?”

& & & & & &

Harold studied the results of his latest tests. Soon he’d have the perfect fake drug to give to the majors.

Man, he was really getting involved in deep stuff here. Not only was he helping Bruce shield his Squire from the Hunt Decree against the Roma by supplying the masking agent to obscure the genetic evidence, he was helping to plot a major upheaval on Paradise Island against the Federal Government.

It was a good thing he liked living on the edge.

“Let me know when you’re through here, Doc, and I’ll straighten up.”

Harold looked up at the newly-hired lab tech. “Sure, Carl.”

The man nodded and closed the door.

& & & & & &

Carl Winslow smiled. It had been almost too easy getting a job here. He was very low-level, performing the most basic of tasks, but it beat cleaning houses for a living.

He didn’t mind flying under the radar. If he played his cards right, by the time he figured out a fitting revenge on the almighty Prince for getting him fired from Aaron Breck’s cleaning service*, he could strike swift and deadly. By now Wayne would have forgotten all about him.

Revenge would be sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *[Chapter 3: Violation (Shadow Of The Bat Arc)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/362160/chapters/587693)
> 
> **End of[The Dark Knight Of The Soul Arc](http://archiveofourown.org/works/373408/chapters/608748)**
> 
> **Next:[The Jewel In The Crown Arc](http://archiveofourown.org/works/380956/chapters/622462)**


End file.
